


Orphans

by danceswithronin



Series: Orphans [3]
Category: Ghost of Tsushima (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Continuation, Canonical Character Death, Daikoku is my home skillet, F/M, First Kiss, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Kamiagata road trip, Kenji is the real MVP, Kind of a soft villain not gonna lie, Lots of dead Mongolians, M/M, My boys won't hesitate to run up on your boys, Post-Game(s), Samurai civil war incoming, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Tell the Shogun I'm coming for him, The Tsushima Uprising, Virtual Soundtrack because we roll like Baby Driver, Yuna and Cub, Yuna is a badass, implied past Ryuzo/Jin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 77,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25987384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithronin/pseuds/danceswithronin
Summary: In the aftermath of his duel with Lord Shimura, Jin must return to the only home he has left. But with a new power vacuum on Tsushima and the Mongols still a threat, Lord Oga and his samurai begin their hunt for the jito's killer.
Relationships: Jin Sakai/Yuna, Yuna/Jin Sakai
Series: Orphans [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896016
Comments: 379
Kudos: 226





	1. Mono no Aware (Longing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin wins (and loses) his duel with Lord Shimura, and fights to make his way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: This is going to be a multi-chapter fic exploring what happens after the Khan is dead, but Tsushima is still left in shambles, without a leader, and with the mainland samurai bearing down to claim the estates of Sakai and Shimura. There will be Jin/Yuna beginning a few chapters in because poor Jin has to get SOMETHING out of all this. Sorry for any minor typos, I tend to write these very late. I'll edit them out as I find them. <3

And then Lord Shimura was gone.

Jin almost wouldn’t have believed it, if it wasn’t for the stillness of the man leaning forward onto him—the insistent dead weight, the way his life had washed out of his face and left it white, soaking Jin’s hand with warmth as if he had placed it in a basin of bath water.

Then, as he never had the chance to do as a child, he laid on his uncle’s shoulder and cried. He sobbed with all the pain of a hurt and startled child, his wounds from the fight throbbing in time with his wails and his heartbeat. He laid his uncle over gently and withdrew the tanto. He curled up next to his uncle’s body as it cooled in the brisk autumn wind.

At some point, after the moon had risen to be reflected on the mirror of the pond, the sheer exhaustion and pain of the past few weeks finally took him. The whispering of the maple leaves rustling on the grounds of the dueling ring around them sang a lullaby, and he found himself drifting even as fresh tears oozed from beneath his lashes.

Jin cried himself to sleep.

**

He had no idea how long he laid there, only that the moon was still high when he awoke. Unbelievably, no one had come. As Jin sat up he remembered his wounds, wincing with every move. His body had stiffened from sleeping on the cold ground. He looked up and saw Kaze grazing in the moonlight nearby alongside his uncle’s horse. Jin looked at his uncle and felt fresh grief strike his heart like the pangs of poison as he looked at the older man in his blood-dampened hakama. He somehow looked smaller to Jin, more vulnerable.

_I cannot leave him for the boars._

He thought a moment, then whistled both horses into the ring. Shimura’s horse reared and snorted briefly as Jin draped his uncle’s body over the saddle as gently as he could. He tucked the haiku they had written inside his uncle’s sleeve. He cut away some of the rope from his _kaginawa_ and tied Shimura to the saddle, then slapped Shimura’s horse on the flank. _“Go! Back to your masters!”_

Jin watched to see if the bonds would hold or if his uncle would go sliding into the dirt, and it seemed they would—Shimura’s horse cantered back down the road towards Omi Village, where it would no doubt be intercepted by villagers or Lord Shimura’s retainers, if they waited on him to return.

All of Tsushima would know of his sin soon enough.

Jin watched his uncle’s horse trot away into the dark, gleaming like a white star, until he could no longer see it for the shadows. Even then he listened to the faint clatter of hooves until that faded to nothing. Then all that was left was the unmerciful stars, and silence.

**

The road back to Jogaku was a nightmarish blur. With most of the Mongols rousted the travel was calm—Jin saw nothing but the silent, haggard shadows of refugees moving in the pampas grass alongside the edges of the road, ready to drop into the grass if a Mongol patrol passed by. Seeing his robes soaked with blood, none dared call out to him.

At some point Jin dozed off again, or fainted, as if his mind was desperate to retreat into sleep to avoid thinking. He leaned against Kaze’s neck and let his mind drift thoughtlessly to the horse’s gentle walk, rubbing his hand along the tattered dark brown velvet of the horse’s neck. If the roads were barren in the north of Toyotama, they were lifeless in Kamiagata. Jin stirred again as the light begin to shine pink on the eastern horizon, a freezing wind from the north stirring up fresh flurries of snow. Jin pulled his mino reinforced with wolf fur and drew it around his shoulders, shivering. The cold at least had the advantage of numbing his wounds.

He felt warm blood trickle steadily from the worst of these, a deep blade cut right beneath his left ribs. He hadn’t looked at it yet, was afraid to with the way he felt unconsciousness keep sweeping over him like a tide that meant to drag him out into a black sea. _I just have to make It back to Yuna_ , he told himself, over and over again, like a mantra. He dug his heels into Kaze’s sides and drove the horse into a gallop, gritting his teeth at the fresh pain it caused to be jostled. _That’s all._ He kept seeing her face as he left, her dark searching eyes, like she was afraid she was never going to see him again. _I have to get back to her. I can’t let her down. Not again._

Bone-weary though he was, the increasing chill of the north woke him up. He moved Kaze off the main road, cutting across fields of snow and grass. Even though the Mongols were gone, the signs of their conquest remained—all around him, even with the sharp cold of the snow, clung the stench of death and decay and burned bodies. Black smoke roiled against the skyline in billowing columns. He moved through the Endless Forest and Kin. The blackened stump of the Great Tree reminded him of when he first got to Kamiagata, after Nobu died.

As though sensing his troubled thoughts, Kaze whickered softly beneath him, and snorted white plumes into the night air. “It’s all right, boy,” Jin whispered. He listened to the wind rush crazed between the blackened stumps of trees, hunts that had been burned to piles of cinder. He could imagine he heard anguished ghosts in that rustled moaning. “It’s not ghosts. It’s only grass,” he told the horse. _There’s only one ghost here._

He heard voices carried on the wind with a gust of snow—Mongolian voices, their guttural dialect raising the hairs on the back of Jin’s neck. Part of him wanted to scream out a challenge to them, to dance with them under the moonlight until their blood flew like black fans. But he wasn’t an idiot, and he barely felt strong enough to lift his sword. _I could ambush them with a bow, or poison them. But if they discover me, and I’m forced to fight…_ It sounded like there were many of them. Maybe too many.

That cold part of him that was the Ghost rose up, that cold voice that spoke to him more and more whispering with eerie confidence, almost a still anticipation, a wolf lifting its lip to snarl, and Jin felt his breath catch with it: _It doesn’t matter how many. It will never matter how many. It will never be enough. Not after what they’ve done._ He fought with himself viciously for a moment as the voices grew louder, moving up the road ahead.

_Who dies? If you don’t fight this time, if you hide this time, who dies? Who dies because you’re a coward this time?_

His father’s desperate plea echoed in his ears.

“No one,” Jin said, barely aware that he had whispered aloud. He dropped down into the grass beside the road to wait, as silent as a panther except for the hiss of his katana as he pulled it from its sheath. “No one,” he whispered again. A new mantra. _I am no one. No master. No clan. Nothing but sword and moonlight and screams._

The Mongols gathered closer.


	2. Jihi Nashi (No Mercy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin attacks Mongols on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments guys, I really appreciate them! Especially comments, I reread them all the time when I am feeling a lack of confidence about my writing. :) Also there are translations for the Mongolian dialogue at the bottom of the chapter.

Jin thought he could smell them before he could see them—a nauseating mix of _airag_ and greasy smoke, scent faint even on the cold blade of the wind. His senses felt sharpened, supernaturally clear, and Jin wondered if it was because he had crept that much closer to death. He could even smell his own sheared-metal blood smell, the reek of spent adrenaline.

_“Odoo bid yaakh ve?”_

_“Bid olon usan ongotson deer khüleene, ted irj baigaa.”_

  
All around him, the crackling frozen pampas whispered its ghost song. As he pressed himself close to the ground, slowing his breath with an incremental meditation exhale so that they would not see it wafting up on the still night air, feeling pain and fear and anger and sorrow course through him all mixed together, until he couldn’t tell one emotion from the next. His mind was a roaring storm.

They crested the hill, a large group in their brushed green velvet and glistening gold. Large men that towered over the men of Tsushima. A golden eagle stared furiously from the shoulder of one. Though he could no longer see the ragged stallion from where he crouched in the long grass, Jin sensed Kaze watching apprehensively from the edge of the field. Waiting for it to start as he had a hundred times before. 

_Focus. You must control your emotions. Or they’ll kill you._ That didn’t sound like the Ghost. That sounded like his uncle.

Jin’s stomach growled insistently, as if to mock the thought. He had ridden straight through Kamiagata to meet his uncle, without stopping for food, and he had taken none since.

The Mongolian heading up the column stopped it, holding up his hand to quiet the others. _Damn._

Before he stood, he took a few seconds to remember the last time he and his uncle took a meal together, before the Mongolians invaded, chatting about simple things like the fall harvest and what would be served at the winter festival, like _mochi_ and sweet warm _akazake_. Jin meant to invite Ryuzo to winter at Castle Kaneda, to bring his men if he liked. He didn’t like the way things had ended at the tournament at the Nagao district before.

Not that it mattered now. 

Once Jin began to move, he moved quickly despite his wounds and his hunger, fighting through them, not giving the Mongols a chance to recognize that they were in trouble before half of them were already dead. He didn’t call out to them. He didn’t want a challenge. He just wanted them all dead and lying in the snow-swept dirt.

Fresh blood, not his own, splattered his face and clothes with new patterns. Their startled screams rose up around him, angry and afraid at once, making him feel a kinship with them even as he cut them down.

A swordsman came at him, two blades glinting under the moon. The man’s fierce black eyes never left Jin’s. He was angry, but he was not afraid. Jin could respect that even as he prepared to strike the man down, watching his flanks out of the corner of his eyes. The other Mongols didn’t drive in but stood back, watching their champion instead.

 _“Samurai end ir, bi tedend tsus aldaj baigaagaa kharuulmaar baina,”_ the man growled, smirking a little at him. His eyes flickered to his comrades as if he expected a laugh, but none came. A flaming arrow came from the back of the group and Jin’s sword flipped up with the speed of a lightning flash, knocking it away. He heard a gasp.

 _“Yah!”_ The man flew at him, blades whirling. Jin dodged a sneak attack at his left from one of the bystanders and snapped his blade up to meet the man charging him, throwing up bright sparks in the darkness. A man with a dagger tried to round up behind him and he threw himself backwards, dealing the man a sudden lethal strike as he did. The Mongol dropped his dagger and sank to his knees, holding his own guts in the snow.

Four were dead now, but there were three left. The archer hung back, and Jin felt as much as saw the arrow’s flaming head whistle by his ear as it barely missed piercing his left eye before dousing itself in the snow behind him. _Too close. Way too close._

He pressed forward against the swordsman leading their attack, pushing through weariness and terror, knowing full well what they would do to him if he faltered, if he tired. What they would do to him would make what they had done to the other samurai and to the peasants of Tsushima look like a child pulling the wings off a fly in comparison.

Finally, Jin saw his window, and took it, thrusting his blade forward and catching the swordsman under his armpit, through the soft meat and into the heart pounding beneath. The man sank to the snow. The archer who had fired at him was backing up now, and then grabbed one of the convoy horses and took off down the road, hooves thundering. The golden eagle, abandoned, circled and flew off.

The last man, a huge bulking brute clad in steel, rushed Jin faster than he would have thought possible for a man in full armor. It caught him off-guard. Unlike the other men, who had bragged and shouted at him, this man moved silently, and to Jin, that made him the dangerous one.

The man’s tower shield slammed into him, jostling every hurt in his body, breaking every scab to bleed fresh. The wind was knocked out of Jin in a harsh single thump as he hit the ground awkwardly, and for a few seconds his chest simply refused to take air again. _Get up, get up!_ He scrambled backwards, trying to find purchase in the snow, too hurt and exhausted to find his feet.

The man stood over him, blocking the moonlight with his shadow. He raised his curved sword high.

And like a magic trick, the man’s neck seemed to sprout a tuft of feathers. He grew still, taking broken, gargling breaths. The sword dropped from his hand as the man fell forward onto him, pinning his legs.

Jin dropped his head back into the snow, feeling it soak his hair. He closed his eyes, feeling the cold envelop him, watching the bright moonlight through his eyelids. It felt like death, lying in snow. Maybe that’s why it was so peaceful.

“My lord Sakai!” Jin heard the sound of horses, other riders.

The moon’s brightness through his eyelids was darkened by a shadow over him, and reluctantly he opened his eyes.

“Daikoku?”

  
The samurai kneeled beside him. “My lord, you’re wounded. Let me help you up.”  
  


_Let me lie here. Let me rest._ But of course, Jin couldn’t say that. The man had just saved his life, worthless as it now was. He allowed the other man to help him to a sitting position, the gentle press of his inspecting hands like the flutter of a small bird.

“What are you doing out here?” Jin asked, if only to assure Daikoku that he was actually alive.

“Lady Yuna sent us to look for you on the road. She has worried about you since you left to meet with Lord Shimura. We were patrolling for Mongols and heard the sounds of battle.”

Jin let out a hurt laugh. _Lady Yuna. She would be tickled to hear that._ He allowed Daikoku and another samurai he didn’t recognize to pull him up onto his feet.

“What of Lord Shimura?” Daikoku asked, looking Jin up and down in the moonlight.

“Dead,” Jin said, his voice flat. “As all of Yarikawa has wished for ten years.” He was surprised at the bitter tone of his own voice, and apparently so was Daikoku, who averted his gaze. The other samurai stood by in silent, shocked stillness. “Lord Sakai. I’m sorry. I do not know what else to say.”

Jin sighed. “There’s nothing left to be said. There’s nothing to be done about it now. It’s time to return home.”

“Can you ride, my lord?”

“I think so.”

Daikoku mounted his horse as Jin whistled for Kaze, then looked around uncertainly at the dead Mongols littering the road, their blood still steaming in the night air. One of them still tried to crawl away, moonlight shining on his entrails as he dragged himself along the blood-slicked grass.

Daikoku grabbed his bow and began to nock an arrow, aiming between the crawling man’s shoulderblades.

“No.”

Daikoku looked at Jin as he sat astride Kaze, dark eyes watching the man crawling down the side of the road. He was downwind now, and the wind carried his dying moans away, blending them with the whispering of the ghosts and the grass.

“My lord?” Daikoku asked.

Jin turned away from the dying man and turned back to Daikoku. Beneath his white cloth mask freshly flecked with blood, it was impossible to read his expression. “Leave him. He wants to wait for his boat. We can’t let him miss it.”

  
The other samurai behind them exchanged a series of silent glances.

They rode north and left the Mongolian to die in the dark, with the golden eagle wheeling overhead. As they broke into a gallop, the bird let out a mournful cry that pierced Jin’s heart like an arrow.  
  


~~

 _Odoo bid yaakh ve?_ \- What do we do now?

 _Bid olon usan ongotson deer khüleene, ted irj baigaa._ – We wait for more ships, they are coming.

 _Samurai end ir, bi tedend tsus aldaj baigaagaa kharuulmaar baina._ – Come here samurai, I mean to show them you bleed after all.


	3. Seiiki (Sanctuary)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin returns to Jogaku Temple.

They traveled through the night, headed for Jogaku Temple. A queer silence had overtaken the group of samurai riders, and Jin had the idea that it was in deference to him and his loss, but he was too numb to care either way. He knew only that it gave the thundering sound of the horse hooves as they rode a strange empty echo across the fields.

Eventually they left off galloping and moved off the road to rest the horses, riding quiet and in pairs, all eyes out for signs of Mongols. But no more dared to show their faces.

If they had, Jin wasn’t sure that he would be able to fight them. His head was so heavy with exhaustion he kept feeling his chin sliding towards his chest, his vision graying as if he had stared into one place during meditation for too long. His stomach had been growling before he cut down the Mongols, but now it felt shriveled, clenched on itself. He bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood and feeling the night air grow sharper, more real.

It wasn’t until the first tender pink light of dawn began to creep into the eastern edge of the sky to the east that they spotted the lights of the temple standing out, the warm glow of candlelight like a beacon calling them home.

“Finally,” Daikoku muttered beside Jin. The samurai glanced over at him. “How are your wounds, my lord?”

 _Not deep enough._ Blood had trickled down and traced a line from his forehead to his chin, courtesy of a knot where the final shieldman had rammed into him, cracking his head against the broad face of the shield.

Jin didn’t have to touch that wound to know it was ugly and didn’t want to—just the pounding from it made him reel in the saddle with nausea. At least it was only a cut, and not a torn-back flap of his scalp. He had seen that after a fight once, where a man’s scalp was sheared away by a glancing sword blow.

Carefully, he reached a hand down to the left side of his chest where the hakama was saturated with blood beneath the rustling straw of his _mino_ , stained with red.

He pressed his hand against the sliced cloth and even in the darkness he could see seeping black blood underneath, a pale white silver of his skin, a red lip of gaping flesh. His palm came up dark with blood in the bright moonlight, and he wiped it quickly on his shirt. He looked up to see Daikoku watching him. 

Jin sighed. He felt as hollow as an old reed. “I’ll be all right, Daikoku. Don’t worry.”

“You don’t look all right,” Daikoku responded, sounding thoroughly unconvinced even though his tone was gentle enough. “We’ll need to see the healers when we get back.”

“I need to see Yuna.”

“Yes, my lord, but she should see you while you are with the healer.”

Jin didn’t answer. He was too tired to argue. He was the lord—he would do what he liked. Daikoku knew it, and so did he. They moved the group of horses carefully across the frozen lake that preceded the temple, moving slowly so that none of the horses slipped and broke a leg.

The temple was still in the pre-dawn stillness as they approached the _ichi no torii_ , passing by some of Daikoku’s archers on guard, but Jin spotted a familiar figure sitting on the dock at the edge of the lake in front of the temple. Waiting for him. When she saw who it was, Yuna came to her feet at once. He felt his eyes burn with fresh tears at the sight and blinked them away hard as a freezing gust of wind bore down on them, causing the samurai to throw up their arms and shield their faces.

_“Jin!”_

Daikoku winced as he usually did at the familiar address. Jin slid down from the saddle and grabbed Kaze’s reins, walking towards Yuna as she ran towards him, hair flowing behind her like a black crow’s wing. Her hair was down, Jin was startled to see. He didn’t think he’d ever seen it that way. _Did she stay up, or is she still rising from sleep?_ He struggled to visualize her that way, lax with sleep against a tatami mat, her guard down for once.

“Careful, he’s wounded!” one of the other samurai called out sharply as Yuna flew up, and she pulled herself up at the last moment from throwing her arms around him. Instead, her hands fluttered up to the broken skin of his face as if testing to see if he was real or a ghost, her fingers warm even though she had been standing outside, as if she had been in front of a fire only moments before. Jin flinched back from her touch, still unused to it even after the weeks they had known each other.

“You scared the _life_ out of me,” she said, eyes flashing. _Is she crying?_ Jin felt a fresh pang of grief at that. She didn’t deserve to worry over him. He didn’t deserve to be worried over.

“When you didn’t come back…what happened? Gods, Jin…you really _are_ hurt,” she added, fresh concern in her voice as she saw the blood on his hakama. 

“Not all mine.” _Enough of it though._ “Not here.”

Yuna took the reins from Jin without asking and handed them to Daikoku where he sat in the saddle. Then she was against him on his good side, pulling his arm over her shoulders as she had after he killed the Khan, staggering off the beaches at Port Izumi. Jin closed eyes eyes and allowed himself to lean on her. He left a trail of blood across the ice as she pulled him along.

“I really did think you were dead,” she said as they walked, her voice scolding but there was no mistaking the way her hand clasped his as he draped his arm over her shoulders, her fingers closed over his with a panicky tightness. “One of our scouts said that the shogun sent a message to Shimura that he meant to have your head.”

_He tried. So many have tried. For mine, and yours._

That made him think of Taka, the gleaming pearl white of the bone in his severed neck, and nausea struck Jin again.

The Khan’s voice whispered in his mind, full of mocking pity: _Your friend died for you. Now I must find another, and you must choose again._

Had he really been hungry before? It seemed like a lifetime ago, pressed flat in the grass like a cat waiting at a mouse hole. Jin couldn’t see how he would ever be hungry again. He lowered his head, breathing heavily as he focused on placing one foot in front of the other without his knees buckling.

“Jin?”

He stopped and looked over at her. Her eyes seemed so close.

“Not here,” he repeated, softly. “Please.”

“Okay, Jin. It’s okay,” she whispered, moving forward with him again until they were climbing the steps of the temple.

“Take me to the Buddha.”

“You are _not_ dying, Jin Sakai,” Yuna said roughly, though she carried him in the direction of the temple altar as he asked.

“Yes ma’am,” Jin replied.

“See? You’re teasing me. You can’t be dying.” She pulled open the doors of the temple and helped him across the wooden floor. The monks gathered around them like a pack of friendly and concerned dogs. Yuna gave them directions. “Bring me bedding. Lord Sakai will rest here, under the gaze of the Buddha. Bring your best healers, now. Hot water, bandages.” She ordered them easily, as if she had given orders to monks and samurai her whole life. _No wonder they call her Lady Yuna._

“You would have made a good samurai,” Jin said as she helped him lay flat on the tatami mat they spread out before the Buddha statue, placing his head on the buckwheat pillow before gently untying his hakama so that she could pull his shirt out and spread it open, revealing pale blood-smeared skin underneath. He turned his eyes away from her, fixing them away and upwards, at the Buddha.

“Oh, Jin,” Yuna whispered, pulling the edge of the shirt carefully back, as if afraid to even brush the deep wound in his side. “Your uncle did this?” Jin turned his eyes back to her when he heard her voice break.

“Don’t cry.” He closed his eyes against his own tears, willing his voice to be even. It was hoarse with battle screams, with the cold wind, with his own broken sobs from hours before. “I hate to hear you cry.”

He tried to force back his own tears but the relief of Yuna’s closeness and the hot fire and the candlelight and the soft golden glow of the Buddha glittering on the wooden floor brought them again, as if they had been waiting just below the surface all along. He let them leak out the corners of his eyes, tracing through the blood on his face and leaving a diluted track, pooling in his ears.

“Then don’t _ever_ do that again,” she said, putting her hand on his face again, her thumb brushing away his tears. He leaned into it, not able to will himself to turn away such a base comfort freely given. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone touched him with such gentleness since his mother died. 

A pair of monks came scurrying up to them, one of them carrying a bucket of steaming water and clean cloths, the other a wooden box. Jin thought he recognized the monk with the box in passing, but the other was unknown to him.

They kneeled, leaning over him. Jin suddenly felt crowded. He couldn’t see Yuna’s face or the monks with his eyes closed, but he felt them like shadows, curling around him like a cat’s tail.

“My lady, his wounds are dire,” one of the monks whispered. “Let us see to him.”

“I’ll help.” Yuna’s voice brooked no room for argument. She pulled her hair back in a brisk, businesslike manner, the illusion of vulnerability gone. It wasn’t _I want to help_ or _I can help._ It was _I will. I am._

Jin let himself drift as he listened to the _zip-zip_ sound of shears expertly cutting and peeling away his torn clothing, leaving him in nothing but a _fundoshi._ In any other circumstance he would probably be embarrassed, to be left bare on the temple floor in the presence of a woman. But it wasn’t just any woman—it was Yuna. And he was too hurt and tired for humiliation.

Warm wet cloths moved across his body, clearing away fresh and clotted blood, raising goosebumps as the moisture evaporated until monks brought the temple braziers in close, surrounding the makeshift hospital bed with healing fire.

When one of the cloths moved across his face, wiping gingerly at the goose egg at the edge of his hair line and across one bruise-blackened cheek, he opened his eyes.

“The blade glanced off of the rib, the lung is clear,” one of the monks whispered to Yuna, working carefully at Jin’s side to stitch and poultice his wounds. The one at his side was the worst, but he bled from a half dozen lighter. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but if he doesn’t take a fever he should live. Thank the _kami_. You have a demon’s luck, Lord Sakai. If the blow was higher or lower, you might have been struck down.”

 _Yes, my home is gone, my family is dead,_ and _my lord’s lord wants me laid out dead alongside them. I feel so lucky._

“Yes. Thank the Buddha,” Jin whispered, his voice flat.

Yuna caught his eyes, her face a silent question.

The monk that had been stitching him finished and began to pull out bandages to wrap his wounds.

“She can do that. Thank you. Leave us.”

The monk hesitated a moment, and then bowed, herding the rest of the monks out with elegant gestures. They filed out of the temple towards the monastery, and suddenly Jin and Yuna were alone. There was no sound except for the wind howling like an angry spirit around the eaves of the temple walls.

As soon as the temple door shut behind the last one, Jin burst into sobs. He turned away from Yuna roughly onto his uninjured side, burying his face from her in the crook of his elbow, trying to hide his cries from her, but they spilled like blood from a wound.

And then Yuna was lying beside him, the soft cloth of her shirt at his bare back, her hand resting like a balm against his upper arm. She shushed him, her forehead pressed against the back of his neck, smoothing her hand down his shoulderblade like she was calming a spooked horse.

“Let it out, Jin. You’re safe,” she whispered. “They’re all gone. I’m the only one here.”

“I _killed_ him.”

She placed her hand over the stitches on his side, barely hard enough to touch skin. “He tried to kill you.”

“I should have let him.”

“Don’t ever say that again,” Yuna said, her tone hard and almost cold. “The Jin Sakai I know is too strong to feel sorry for himself. You don’t know what it would do to the people of this island if that happened to you. We’ve been through too much already. You have other people to think about.”

He rolled onto his back, his breath hitching, reaching up stiffly to scrub the tears from his face as if he was angry at them. Yuna grabbed his stiff wrist and took his hand, using her fingers to gently pry it out of a fist. She intertwined her fingers with his, his sword hand still grimed with blood, sitting up to lean down and look over him with a solemn face.

“You have me to think about.”

“I got Taka killed,” Jin whispered, his voice thick with self-loathing. “You shouldn’t even be able to stand to look at me.”

“Taka died because he loved you,” Yuna replied, evenly. “And I would have done the same.” She withdrew her hand. “Now sit up and let me wrap those wounds.”

At a loss except to obey her, Jin did as she asked. She wrapped the bandages carefully around his arm and torso, where the cuts were deepest, and then took a strip to wrap around his head, gathering in close to secure it. Her face was mere inches from his, and he thought he saw the blood rise in her cheeks when he met her eyes steadily.

“There. Now lay down. You can’t heal without rest.” She pulled away to gather the _kakebuton_ and pulled it up almost to his shoulders.

“Please stay.” Jin’s voice was so small that Yuna barely heard it over a wood knot popping in the brazier.

“I’m not going anywhere.” She laid down next to him and gathered one of the monk’s _zafu_ cushions, resting her head on it. She pulled the blanket over until it covered them both, trapping their combined heat beneath it. She took his hand again, running her thumb across his cool and callused palm like a worry stone. Her cheek was pressed against his bare shoulder, the bit of skin touching there like a brand. “I promise. Just sleep, Jin.”

Feeling himself grow warm under the blanket for what felt like the first time in days, Jin slid back into unconsciousness with the force of a blow.


	4. Hīrā no Tatchi (A Healer's Touch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin recovers in Jogaku's temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks SO much for the continued support guys! I love your comments so much, they're amazing encouragement. <3

Jin awoke what felt like years later, with the pressing need to empty his bladder. His head swam, and the combination of sensations reminded him of the mornings after late nights spent with Ryuzo over gourds of sake, listening to his ribald jokes and the conversations he made up between the people they watched with their legs hanging off the edge of the roof at Castle Shimura.

His first realization after his bladder was the pain—he hurt all over. It felt as if a horse had kicked him in the kidneys, and his limbs were stiff with swollen, cut muscle. He let out his breath in a soft, incremental grunt, wincing. His tongue felt like a wad of cotton, and his lips were chapped.

Then he noticed Yuna, and for a few moments he forgot his aches. She was pressed alongside his bare chest beneath the blankets, her face resting against his shoulder, her wrist limp across his waist, fingertips brushing a bruise. Her other arm cushioned her head. She was fast asleep, breathing deeply. He realized with her this close that he could smell her, an earthy scent like fresh-cut bamboo and forge smoke.

He evened his breathing, feeling pain throb at him from what felt like a dozen different places, and just soaked in the sight of her in the candlelight. Outside of the temple, he could hear activity and voices, but he had no idea what time it was, there was no way to tell from the dingy gray light coming through the slotted windows of the temple. There were still no monks to be found—they had the temple to themselves.

He reached over to where Yuna’s forearm was lying on his waist and rested his hand over hers, testing the feel of it. He curled his fingers around the edge of her palm, cradling it, and she squeezed it in return, sighing, causing his breath to catch in his throat.

Finally, he tapped his thumb gently against the top of Yuna’s hand. “Yuna.” His voice sounded cracked, rusty. She snorted softly, but otherwise didn’t stir. “Yuna,” he repeated, a little louder.

She took a deep breath and lifted her head, pulling her hand away to rub the sleep from her face and brush her hair back behind her shoulders. As it hung over him in a curtain for a moment and then gone, Jin resisted the urge to reach out and touch it, to see what it felt like.

“How are you feeling?”

He tilted his head at her, a sardonic half-smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “Less than average. I need to use the _tōsu._ ”

She moved away from him and pushed the blanket back. “Here, let me help you up.” 

“I’m not an old woman,” Jin said, then bit back a groan as he sat up himself, the wound on his head throbbing.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Mm-hm.”

“I just… need a minute.”

Jin slowly worked his way up to a kneeling position before a sweep of dizziness came over him and he closed his eyes, lowering his head. Yuna was next to him then, gently pulling his arm around her shoulders and helping to draw him to his feet. “Let’s go, hero.”

She helped walk him across the temple floor. “Where are all the monks?” he asked.

“They haven’t come back since you ordered them away. I think they’re afraid of you,” Yuna said, sounding somewhat cheerful about it.

“I need to give them their temple back, move to the _honden._ ”

“The only place you need to move is to piss and back to bed with food and water.” The vulgar talk startled a chuckle out of Jin, and he groaned as Yuna pushed the temple door open. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts too much. I think I cracked a rib.”

Outside there were a few of the refugees and monks and Yarikawa samurai milling around or doing tasks, but not as many as Jin would have thought. The sky was turning black, and wild gusts of snow danced across the temple courtyard, the wind howling like an angry _oni._

“The storm is almost here,” Jin said as they minced their way to the _tōsu,_ Jin feeling his abused muscles screaming and then finally beginning to relax slightly as he walked it off. He thought about asking either Yuna or the monks if they had anything he could take for the pain, but with the Mongols all around, he couldn’t risk being drugged.

Yuna waited outside while Jin relieved himself, holding himself up against the wall. He limped back out, and when she offered him a shoulder again, he waved her off, walking alongside her back to the temple. One of the monks—Jin recognized him as one of the ones who had helped to tend his wounds, the stitcher—briskly strode up to them.

“My lord, you should not be out of bed.” The monk’s wrung his hands nervously in their large sleeves, looking at the bloodied bandages wrapped around Jin’s torso.

“He’s headed back there now,” Yuna said. She looked at Jin. “Go. Lay back down. I’ll bring you food and water. No argument.”

The mention of food caused Jin’s stomach to clench, and he couldn’t tell if it was in anticipation or dread. But the water sounded fantastic. He nodded and headed back in.

**

“My lady, he is not well. Did you see the color in his cheeks? It is a fever.”

Yuna looked away from where she was watching Jin make his way slowly back into the temple before turning to the monk before her, a healer named Iseri. She had noticed the flush in Jin’s cheeks, and the heat that was baking off him like an opened oven door as she put his arm over hers.

“You let me worry about him,” she said to Iseri. “Do you have willow bark here?”

“Yes, we do.”

“Have the healers boil some in hot water and bring it to me in the temple. With more hot water. And oak leaves. I need to fetch him food and water.” _And speak with Daikoku_ , she added silently.

Yun went to the _honden_ and grabbed a few empty gourds to fill with clean, fresh-fallen snow before capping them off and slinging them over her shoulder, leaving the snow to melt against the heat of her body as she gathered some other things from the temple kitchen—a bowl of hot _miso_ broth, a bowl of pickled vegetables and steamed rice pottage. There wasn’t much food, but whatever the monks and refugees of Jogaku had to give, they considered it an honor to give.

 _It is a fever._ Her heart clenched with worry. Mongols she would drive back barehanded if she had to, but she couldn’t fight an enemy she couldn’t see. She had known for weeks that Jin was running himself ragged—could see it in the grim, hardened, gaunt set of his face, so different than the flustered and endearingly naïve man she pulled off the beach at Komoda.

But he would be fine, Yuna decided forcefully. She had pulled two arrows from his back at Komoda, and he had been thrown from the Bridge of Kaneda and lived. He wasn’t going to be done in by a fever, monk or no monk.

Yuna juggled carried the bowls carefully back to the temple, the cold storm wind whipping her in the face, blowing pieces of her hair into her eyes. The miso sent up a column of fragrant white steam that blew apart as she walked.

“One of these days I won’t need you to nurse me anymore,” Jin joked weakly from where he was lying on the bed as she made her way over to him with the supplies, setting them down carefully on the wooden floor before settling down herself.

“As often as you find trouble? I doubt it.” She took one of the gourds and shook it, seeing if the warmth from the _honden_ kitchen had melted it enough, and when she heard it sloshing she held it out to Jin, who sat up gingerly and took it. He pulled the stopper and Yuna watched as he gulped it down, his throat moving rhythmically under the rough scruff of beard at his jawline.

“Not so fast. You’ll be sick.”

He drew the gourd away from his mouth, panting. “Worth it.” He took a deep breath and sat it aside, then looked at her, smiling a little. Yuna noticed with low dismay that the monk was right—Jin’s cheeks were flushed where they weren’t bruised, and his eyes sparkled with fever. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now drink this. More slowly,” she added, handing him the bowl of soup. He held it under his nose, breathing deeply before bringing the edge of it to his mouth. He took a few deep swallows, then held the bowl out to her. She took it, sipping delicately.

“Yuna…”

She looked up at him over the edge of the bowl, where he was watching her.

“Thank you. For everything. You didn’t have to stay, but you did. I was wrong about you, when we met. I didn’t think you were honorable. You are the most honorable woman on this island.” His words were quiet, but they echoed in the stilllness.

Yuna suddenly realized how alone they were, and her own cheeks flushed as she looked away to gaze at the Buddha statue on the dais. It was amazing to her to see relics unsmashed and unburnt, a dream from another time. “Nowhere to go now,” she replied softly.

“That makes two of us,” Jin said, and the harsh note in his voice made her meet his eyes again.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jin reached over and took the bowl of rice and vegetables, taking the chopsticks in one hand. “What is there to say?”

“He was your family. I know it’s hard.”

Jin stared down into his bowl of rice as if the secret to life and death lie somewhere amongst the grains. “After all this… I failed. I tried so hard to save him, Yuna. I did everything I could.” He wouldn’t look up at her, his voice flat. “I couldn’t spare him. He would have killed himself. In shame.”

 _Stupid samurai,_ Yuna thought as she watched his downcast face, feeling impotent rage rise up in her. If Shimura wasn’t dead, she thought she was angry enough to kill him herself. _Look at the mess you made of things, old man. First Yarikawa, and now this. He loves you still, and you broke his heart._ “Then he was a fool.”

Jin lifted his eyes to her, flashing jet. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth. Anyone who chooses honor over the lives of the people they love is a fool.”

Jin didn’t answer, only forked rice and vegetables into his mouth with mechanical efficiency that hid how hungry he actually was, chewing without looking at her. She sipped the miso just to keep her hands from shaking on the bowl. Just when she thought the silence would stretch out forever until she would be forced to apologize, the temple doors opened. Jin shot a glance at Yuna before looking over to them. She put the bowl of broth down.

Two monks came back into the temple with a bucket hot water, fresh bandages, a bundle of oak leaves, and a willow bark tea. These monks were younger acolytes, their movements shy as they gathered towards the two of them.

“My lord, we’ve brought you medicine.” Jin put his bowl down to take the cup of tea, and when the other monk set the bucket of hot water on the temple floor, Yuna took the bundle of dried oak leaves and dumped them unceremoniously into the hot water to soak.

“Thank you,” Jin told them. “I’m feeling better already thanks to your care.”

The monks bowed low. “You saved us from Mongols, my lord. There are not enough thanks for us to give,” one of them said. “We’ll let you rest. Know that the temple is being guarded—none will come without your leave.” They slipped back out of the temple as quietly as cats.

Jin cleared his bowl and moved to drink the tea, grimacing slightly at its bitter taste. But he swallowed down the whole cup.

“For the pain. And the fever.”

He looked at Yuna. “I can’t be drugged. What if the Mongols come?”

“It won’t slow you down. Not that kind of medicine. And you’re not fighting in that condition anyway. If they come…” She shrugged, raising an eyebrow at him. “Then we drive them into the sea.”

Jin remembered his words to her, back at the beginning. He was almost embarrassed of his arrogance. He must have seemed a child to her.

Before he could say anything, Yuna told him, “Sit up. We’ll change your bandages.”

She shifted to move beside him as he complied, letting her pull away the blood-crusted bandages she had applied hours before. The torn flesh beneath them was swollen and hot to the touch. Yuna put her hand on the wound in his side, and the coolness of her palm made him jump a foot. “Be still. I can’t do this if you’re squirming all over the place.”

“Where _did_ you learn to do this?” he asked as she began pulling wet oak leaves out of the steaming water, plastering them carefully over his wounds in a damp warm sheet before applying fresh bandages.

“You didn’t think that thieving was the only way I knew how to make a living, did you? Kept you alive after Komoda, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

They settled into silence again as she worked, but it was more companionable now, less tense than before. She laid the oak leaves along his cuts like a series of flat scales before covering them with cloth.

“I’m sorry.” Yuna wrapped a bandage around Jin’s arm, holding his hand to hold his forearm still while she worked. “I shouldn’t have said that about your uncle. I’m sure he was a good man.”

“He wanted me to blame you for the Ghost. He would have let the shogun take your head instead of mine.” Jin’s voice was soft.

Yuna shrugged. “You were like his son. Family. You do what you must to protect them. No matter the cost. That doesn’t make him bad, Jin.”

She finished wrapping his wounds and shifted to move away, but Jin grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her closer until she could feel his breath on her face. And then he was kissing her. Just a chaste kiss, stolen and soft, silken lips and a brief rasp of stubble, but it struck like a lightning bolt.

When he pulled back, he looked almost sheepish. “Sorry. I have wanted to do that for at least a week.”

At a loss for words for a moment, Yuna finally said, “Surprised you didn’t do it before Yarikawa, with sake to steel your nerve.”

“I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“Jin, it would be hard for me to think more of you.” She searched his eyes for a moment, then leaned in and kissed him back. Quick, and without giving him time to pull her closer. She moved away from him and came to her feet.

“Where are you going?”

“To see Daikoku. I need to hear if they’ve found out anything. Lay down,” she ordered, pointing at the tatami mat. “Water. Food. Medicine. Rest. In that order. I’ll be back shortly.”

She turned her back on him and walked away before he could answer, shutting the temple door gently behind her. She leaned against them and brought her fingertips to her lips before letting out a shaky breath and stalking off. 


	5. Shaberu (Idle Chatter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin has a visitor. Yuna speaks with Daikoku about the death of the jito.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for continuing to read along with me and leave me comments, I read every single one and appreciate them more than you know! <3 And yes this chapter does have some implied past teenage Jin/Ryuzo because THEY MY BOYS FIGHT ME. <3

_I cannot believe I did that._

As soon as Yuna closed the temple door behind her, Jin slumped back onto his bed and threw his arm over his eyes, sighing.

“You’re a fool,” he said out loud, tasting the words. They tasted true. But even now his heart hammered in his chest, and he knew it wasn’t just the wound fever coursing through his body that was doing it. She had kissed him back. Fled from him afterwards like he had caught her on fire, but _she_ had kissed _him._

He had never been around other women his own age much growing up—Masako had all sons, and he had Ryuzo. Those were his closest peers. There were peasant women in the villages, pleasant enough to look at, and Ryuzo had not hesitated to talk to them or flirt with farmer’s daughters.

Ryuzo was his first introduction to the pleasures of the flesh, and they had their share of adolescent fumbling after sake-fueled nights of lounging around a _shoji_ board, playing by candlelight. Ryuzo drew him out of his shell, wrestled him to the ground while laughing over him, flouted his status as lord, laid hands on him without bothering to ask. But it was a casual thing, and as they both grew older and found the responsibilities of manhood, they saw each other less and less at all.

For Jin, it felt too hard to let anyone else close enough, especially after his parents’ death. Ryuzo was part of his inner circle already, so it was easier… and the other man was forceful, teasing, pushing Jin when he wouldn’t otherwise bend. But the giggles of the village women as he passed made his face burn, and he avoided their gaze except in aid of them. The way they fawned over him made him self-conscious.

Yuna was different. She didn’t tease _or_ fawn, but the way she looked at him sometimes when she thought he didn’t notice made his blood hot. Half the time he wasn’t sure whether she liked him at all. She had no problem telling him when she thought he was wrong—that was one thing, at least, that she and Ryuzo had in common.

He pulled the blanket over his head and closed his eyes. With a full stomach and the pain in his wounds and his head dampened to a dull roar by the willow tea, he felt himself drifting again when he heard the temple door open. He pushed back the blanket to see Kenji coming in. The sake merchant had removed his straw hat for once, and his movements seemed almost timid as he closed the temple door behind him.

“Kenji. What are you doing here?”

“Lord Sakai.” Kenji kneeled down next to him. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I brought you some sake to help with the pain.” He held out a gourd to Jin, smiling.

Jin took it, but didn’t uncork it. He mustered a small smile back up at the sake seller. “Thank you, Kenji. You’ve been a loyal friend. No one could fault your courage. …But you should go. The samurai from the mainland know that we’re in Kamiagata, and peasants all over the island know that we’re in Jogaku. It’s only a matter of time before they come. You’d be safer if you went somewhere else, somewhere that’s free from the Mongols.”

In answer Kenji sat cross-legged on the temple floor beside his bed, stacking the empty food bowls and setting them aside. Once he was settled, he looked at Jin again. “Lord Sakai, with you here, Jogaku is the safest place on the entire island,” he said sincerely. “My lord, I’d rather not leave your side.”

Jin sat up on his elbows, even though the movement caused dull fire to throb in his bandaged wounds. “You already risked your life for me more than once. The samurai may have already connected you with my escape, you were the last one seen before I got away.” Jin’s brow furrowed. “My friend, I do not want your death on my conscience.”

“It’s too late for that I’m afraid, my lord,” Kenji said, the grin on his face wavering to show a glimpse of fear beneath it. “The samurai look for me now, one of Daikoku’s men told me so. There are only so many sellers of sake on Tsushima, and as you say—only one who showed up right before the Ghost got away. I am, unfortunately, not an inconspicuous man.”

 _Here’s another whose life has been stolen by the Ghost._ Jin looked away from Kenji, staring into the floor.

“They must not be guarding the temple too heavily if you got through, Kenji,” Jin said, as way of changing the subject.

“Oh, the monks? They let me pass.” Kenji grabbed his own gourd of sake and uncorked it, sipped at it thoughtfully before swallowing and smiling at Jin again. “I am the only man on Tsushima who has saved the Ghost’s life other than Yuna.” 

“That was foolish,” Jin said. “And I thank you for it. But you could have been killed.” He sat up the rest of the way, wincing, and took the gourd of sake that Kenji had brought him, rolling it in his hands. He remembered his words to Yuna about not being drugged before the Mongols. But just looking at the wear-polished gourd conjured the taste of the sweet sake inside on his tongue. _A little won’t hurt. Before sleep._ “I don’t want any more of my friends to die for me,” he added as he uncorked it, his voice softer.

“Lord Sakai, pardon my insolence, but we _are_ your friends. Do you expect us to stand by and watch the shogun take your head?”

Jin took a small pull from the sake, swallowing. It lit a trail like fire down his throat, settling warmth in his stomach. _Yes. My uncle would have. Shigesato and Yasunari would have. And Ryuzo…. He’d take it himself just for the pay._ He sat the gourd aside. _Enough for now. Not too much._

“Yes, Kenji.” He looked at the sake seller seriously. “I appreciate what you did. I do. But Taka already died trying to save my life. If I get you killed too, Yuna will never speak to me again.” He added this last as a joke, trying to make his tone lighter, but he didn’t want to think of how Yuna would react if it actually happened.

Kenji snorted laughter. “Yuna would throw a parade.”

“You don’t really believe that.” The thought that Kenji thought they thought so little of him, even in jest, made Jin sad somehow.

“Hmm. No. I suppose I don’t, my lord.” Still smiling a little, Kenji sipped the sake.

They passed a few moments in companionable silence, Kenji sipping his brew, Jin watching him and listening to the braziers crackle while the coming _taifuu_ rattled the eaves of the temple.

“Thank you for being my friend, Kenji.”

“And you, Lord Sakai.”

**

When Yuna found Daikoku, he was whittling arrows on the temple wall, his hardened gaze sweeping out over the blue frozen lake, scanning the horizon for any sign of encroaching danger. She walked up to him and saw that he had one of the large captive eagles of the Mongols tied to a wooden post, its eyes flashing like a noblewoman’s golden rings. The bird screamed at her as she approached, its neck feathers ruffling in warning.

“Where did you get _that?”_ she asked him as she walked up.

Daikoku looked up at her from his work where she was looking at the eagle. “Oh, her? That’s Uragirimono. I won her off one of those Mongolian dogs when he decided to see which of us was a better shot. Since he ended the contest with an arrow in his eye, I’d say the winner is me.”

“Traitor?” she asked, leaning on the wall to look out beyond it. “Odd name.”

“Well she’s on our side now, isn’t she?”

“How could you tell? For all you know their shamans can turn into eagles.” 

Daikoku let out a disbelieving huff. “Spare me your folk tales, Lady Yuna,” he said, though the faint smile on his face and his warm tone softened the scolding. He set his work aside and gave her his attention. “What can I do for you?”

She climbed up onto the temple wall beside him and swung her legs over the side, following where his gaze had previously tracked the snow-swept plains before Jogaku. “Have your men found out anything since Lord Sakai returned?”

The small smile that had surfaced on Daikoku’s face faded as quickly as it had come. “One of our scouts returned from Omi. The _jito’s_ body has been found. Villagers are saying that he was murdered by the Ghost.”

“And what do you think?”

Daikoku shrugged. “I think that’s what happens to anyone who tries to kill the Ghost. I don’t think that Lord Sakai would murder anyone that wasn’t a Mongol. Especially not his own uncle. Good riddance to the bastard.” Daikoku spat.

“Don’t let Lord Sakai catch you saying that,” Yuna replied, thinking of the dangerous way Jin had looked at her when she called his uncle a fool. “He’s still raw over it.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Daikoku looked at her with worry in his eyes. “Lady Yuna, the samurai at Omi will take the word to Castle Shimura. Lord Oga and the other samurai may already know. It’s only a matter of time before they come up here looking for him.”

She tore her eyes away from him and stared back out across the lake. “I know.”

“What do we do? We can’t fight a battalion of mounted samurai from the mainland if they decide to siege this place. Not a bunch of warrior monks and war refugees.”

“Your men can,” Yuna pointed out.

Daikoku stared back at her with a grim face. “This isn’t the Mongols, or bandits. They’re the samurai of the shogunate. It’s treason. My father and brother are dead because of the Yarikawa Rebellion. Our house was burned to the ground. Every one of my men lost their clan status the last time we stood against the samurai. If we stand again, they will lose more.”

“Lord Sakai saved their lives.”

“And they are thankful. But they would like to keep them.”

Yuna reached over and took Daikoku’s shoulder. He flinched under her touch.

“Would you have followed Lord Sakai, if he was your _jito_?”

“Of course,” Daikoku said, without hesitating. “He’s not his uncle—he’s shown himself to be a friend to Yarikawa. If he had been older in the Rebellion, we might have found peace sooner. But Kazumasa…” The archer shook his head.

“You would follow him though?”

“My lady, I follow him now.”

Yuna withdrew her hand from him. “Then we must protect him. You and I. We have to. Jin spent weeks protecting people all over this island.” Yuna’s eyes burned into Daikoku’s, holding him fast. “Risked his life over and over again, for _us._ Saved my life and yours. And now he is the one who is wounded and needs help. Will your men turn against him after he risked his life to free them?”

Daikoku sighed. “No. We believe in the Ghost, my lady. And you. So far, neither of you has failed us yet. We are in your debt.”

“Then we’ll do what we must,” Yuna said. “Until he has a chance to regain his strength.”

Daikoku took a deep breath and let it out in a measured exhale, resignation breathed out in a white plume of frozen smoke that rose on the cold storm air and disappeared. “And if the samurai come before then to claim him? You know that they will, Lady Yuna. They may be coming for him already.”

Yuna stared back across Lake Jogaku, her expression unreadable.

“Then we will give them some ghost stories to take back to the mainland with them,” she said, her voice growing soft and vicious. 

Uragirimono shrieked her agreement.


	6. Chóudí (Sworn Enemy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Oga makes his move against the rebel Jin Sakai.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all of the comments, kudos, and support guys! :D Your comments literally fuel my writing spirit (also I have definitely gotten at least one brilliant idea from one, thank you Pangolin!!!!) You can consider this our "Meanwhile in Shimura Castle" episode!
> 
> A little music to set the mood: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X7oy2aJDKpc

“Hayato.”

The young samurai opened his eyes from where he was sitting in _zazen_ facing the blank wall of the same cell that Jin Sakai had spent days in, pacing the four corners of the room like a tiger in a cage. Hayato had not paced like the Ghost during his captivity. He begged for his _tanto_ back _,_ for the privilege to end his life.

Whenever he asked, the samurai guarding the cell now shook their heads in a mixture of disgust and pity. Eventually he stopped asking and sat to meditate and wonder when he would be killed or would be allowed to kill himself.

Other than being locked away, he was treated no differently than he had been when they arrived at Castle Shimura from the mainland. The food was no worse than before, he was given fresh changes of clothing, and he wasn’t beaten. That was the part he kept expecting that didn’t happen. Instead they locked him away, like a dog they didn’t want anymore.

Hayato had felt homesickness strike his heart as soon as they left landlocked Nara, with its sea of pink cherry blossoms and the temple deer that would eat right out of your hand. Then he became truly sick when they launched out onto the black, stormy seas for Tsushima. He spent half of the boat ride with his head hung over the side of the boat and the laughter of the older samurai ringing in his ears. He spent the other half of the trip in the holds with Kaito, breathing in the hay scent of the war stallion’s thick strong neck. He listened to Kaito’s strong bellows breath and laid his cheek against the horse’s broad shoulder, leaning against it to soothe his tossing stomach.

But this was worse than homesickness. The other samurai who had been his friends, who had laughed _with_ him as well as at him, would not meet his gaze. At first when they jailed him, he crept up to the door like a child and spoke through it, softly, asking for news of the Ghost or the sake seller who had freed him.

The samurai guarding his cell would not even turn back to look at him through the slots in the door, acted as if _he_ was the one who was a ghost.

Hayato stood and walked over to the door. One of the guards, Aito, was a man he recognized and had spoken to on friendly terms a few times on the trip to Tsushima, and who had never spoken a word to him since they arrested him.

Aito unlocked the door. “Come,” he said gruffly.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Lord Oga has requested your presence,” Aito replied. “More than that, I cannot say.”

They walked across the castle to Shimura’s tea room and Aito paused at the outside of it, opening the screen and nodding his head towards the opening, looking at Hayato. _Go._

Hayato walked into the room as confidently as he could before centering himself on the tatami mats in front of the dais where Lord Oga sat writing. He prostrated himself as low as he could, pressing his face into the mat, his hands splayed against it as he bowed his head. His eyes were squeezed tight, as if he expected a blow.

“My lord. I humbly beg your forgiveness.”

Lord Oga kept writing, his face tranquil and composed as if he sat in his own estate. His retainers sat to his side in either corner, watching Hayato with a stony expression. Two more were stationed in the other two corners of the room. They were taking no chances now.

“Hayato. You have spent weeks begging for forgiveness. Aren’t you tired of it yet?” Lord Oga asked, without looking up.

Hayato felt his eyes burn and squeezed them more tightly shut.

“If my crime cannot be forgiven, I cannot bear it. I ask permission to end my life,” Hayato replied, unable to keep his voice from cracking slightly at the last. He swallowed hard, feeling his body quake and knowing that the other men in the room could see his shivering, but not being able to stop anyway.

“No.” Lord Oga’s response was flat, uncompromising. “Sit up. I’m tired of talking to the top of your head.”

Reluctantly, Hayato came to a kneeling position. It took all his strength to will his face into as much stillness as he could. He tightened his lips and clenched his jaw and looked his lord in the face.

The leader of the mainland samurai stared Hayato down, looking him over as if Hayato was a horse he was considering a purchase on.

“You are from Nara?”

“Yes, my lord.”

A silence fell on the room. Hayato felt it looming over him like an unbearable weight. When at last he thought he would have to speak or die, Lord Oga spoke again.

“Lord Shimura is dead.”

Of all the things Hayato had expected Lord Oga to say, this wasn’t one of them. His eyes flickered to the faces of the samurai guards surrounding them, but they gave away nothing, not a flinch of reaction. They may as well have been statues.

“My lord? I don’t understand.”

“The Ghost has murdered Lord Shimura,” Lord Oga said, speaking slowly, as if he was talking to a child. Hayato felt ice run where his blood used to be as the realization of what that meant trickled in.

_It’s my fault. I’m the reason Lord Shimura is dead._

Hayato closed his eyes. He hadn’t known Shimura, but the lord had come around to greet all of the samurai when they arrived. He remembered the lord of Shimura Castle coming up to him smiling, a hospitable host even though he overall looked tired and haunted. _That is a fine-looking mount. Brown as a seal, and shines like one. You must take good care of him._ Hayato had puffed up at the compliment, trying not to be flattered but not being able to help it. His own lord was so cold, compliments were as rare as gems.

_I killed him._

“My lord, the fault is mine,” Hayato said. His heart pounded as if it was trying to beat its way out of his chest, making his voice shake. “I am the cause of this crime. I am the one who left Jin Sakai unguarded.”

“I know.” Lord Oga’s reply was deceptively placid.

“If I do not have permission to end my life, is there nothing I can do to redeem my honor?” Hayato whispered. “I don’t understand why I’m here.”

“I wanted to see how you reacted when I told you the news,” Lord Oga said. His face was a dull unyielding mask, and his black eyes watched Hayato without ceasing, almost without blinking. It reminded Hayato of a cat watching a mouse. “The Ghost has many friends. I couldn’t be sure that you didn’t conspire to release him for the purpose of this assassination.”

“My lord, _no._ I would _never_ —”

“Still yourself, Hayato. I said I couldn’t be sure. I am sure now. A sorrier samurai I have never seen in my life. Ikki,” he said, addressing one of the guards. “Get tea. Two cups.” The guard stood and moved immediately out of the room.

Hayato grew silent. He didn’t know what else to do. Lord Oga stared at him until he was forced to avert his gaze, staring at the tatami mat before him, his hands pressed hard against his thighs. The guard returned with makings for tea, spreading them out on the _kotatsu_ table before Lord Oga, moving the lord’s brush and scrolls aside. The guard returned to his post.

“Come. Sit, Hayato. Stop quaking. You do not die today, regardless of your feelings on the matter. In any case, the death of Shimura is unfortunate, but it is advantageous for us. With Shimura out of the way and most of the Mongols on Tsushima rousted, there is only one task left to us and then the island will be under the control of the samurai once more. There is chance for advancement here, for those brave enough to take it. There are lands to claim.”

Hayato came up to sit at the _kotatsu_ across from Lord Oga, clenching his hands into uneasy fists at his sides, forcing himself to meet the lord’s gaze again.

“How old are you? Twenty-five?” Lord Oga asked, his voice casual.

“I turned twenty this summer, my lord.”

“Tall for your age. I was going to write your father to tell him of your crime, but they told me that your parents are dead.”

“Yes, my lord,” Hayato said, softer than before.

“Pity. It’s hard to come into manhood without the benefit of a father,” Lord Oga said, sounding almost genuine about it. He poured the tea into a cup for Hayato and handed it to him before pouring one for himself. Hayato held the cup in his hands, feeling the warmth of the tea radiating from it, steeling his nerve. He sipped the strong, foamy green _matcha_.

“He… it was recent. The healers said they thought it was his heart. It was quick.” Hayato swallowed hard. “He had wanted to come aid you at my side. He was proud to serve the _shugo._ As am I.”

“I’m sorry,” Lord Oga said, his gaze softening slightly but his voice still even. He sipped his tea. “That is a hard thing. And then to have to come here alone.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“The Ghost is loose in Kamiagata. My scouts in Omi say that he was spotted by a farmer riding north after the _jito’s_ body was found. We’re not sure exactly where he is in Kamiagata, but we know he’s wounded. There was much blood found on the _jito’s_ katana. If we’re lucky, he took a mortal blow and is limping off to die like a wolf in the woods.”

 _Wounded?_ Hayato had hardly even thought of Jin Sakai as a man to be bloodied, the way he heard men talk about him. The man had refused to speak to any of his captors when he was being held at the castle, and all Hayato heard from him was the low, mournful tones of his flute. He had cleared the castle of Mongols and didn’t even appear to take a scratch in the process. Sakai used poison, yes, but he’d also fought the ronin Ryuzo. And that man did not die of poison.

“He must be brought to justice,” Hayato said.

“I’m so glad you agree,” Lord Oga said. He took another swallow of his tea before continuing. “That’s why I’m sending you to get him.”

“You’re sending me to kill the Ghost?” Hayato asked, with an awed tone as if Lord Oga had asked him to raise Lord Shimura from the dead.

“No.” Lord Oga looked at him, watching his expression carefully. “I’m sending you north to bring him back. You let him go. Now you are going to go and arrest him and escort him back here to face his judgment as befits a man of his station. And if you meet any Mongols on the road, you will show them how a _real_ samurai fights.”

“My lord… he’ll never come willingly.”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to get imaginative, won’t you?” Lord Oga said. His gaze hardened as he stared at the young samurai, clasping his hands together as he rested his elbows on the table. “Let me put this in terms that you can understand, Hayato Mori. Sakai is an unruly man, but he is a reasonable one. You are his last chance to do the honorable thing. His uncle is dead, and he is wounded. He may be dead by the time you find him. If he wants to save his friends and all the peasants who are shielding him, he’ll face the punishment for his crimes like a samurai should. You can tell him your life depends on it as well. Appeal to his better nature. Apparently, he’s soft that way.” Hayato thought he could see Lord Oga’s eyes sparkling with amusement.

 _So they_ are _sending me to kill myself._ Hayato closed his eyes.

“How good are you with a sword, Hayato?”

_I’m not the Ghost._

“As good as any man, my lord.”

“That’s not what I hear. I hear you’re one of the best swordsmen in Nara.”

“There are not so many swordsmen in Nara as in Oga, my lord.”

“Still… it’s a good thing you have skill,” Lord Oga said. “You’re going to need it.”

Silence spread across the tea room again as both samurai and lord contemplated the implications of that. Finally, Hayato whispered:

“I am to go alone?”

“Why should any other man be asked to risk his life to avenge _your_ crime, Hayato?” Lord Oga said. His voice was cold. “We do not have so many samurai here in Tsushima that I can afford to throw half of them at that frozen mountain trying to apprehend a bandit king. We are here to bring order to this island and replace the samurai who were lost. This task is yours alone. You _go_ alone. You may take your horse,” Lord Oga added, as if it was a generosity.

“I… as you command, my lord. I live to serve you.” Hayato bowed his head and averted his eyes, trying to keep his face as stoic as a mask.

“We’ll see if Jin Sakai still has any samurai left in him or not,” Lord Oga said. “If he forces you to cut him down, we’ll see exactly the kind of man he was. This is his last chance to redeem what ragged scraps of honor the man has left.”

 _Or he’ll kill me, you mean_ , Hayato thought. The entire situation felt surreal, like a waking nightmare.

“Hopefully, it will not come to that,” Hayato said, knowing full well what it would come to.

“We won’t know until we reach out and try to bring the wayward Sakai back into the fold. But now he must pay the price for what he has done, and the peasants of this island must be shown that our word is the law, and the law must be obeyed. If he will not ride back with you and answer for his crimes against the shogunate as a _jito’s_ chosen son should, you will bring me his head. Then, perhaps, we will see what there is to be done with you. You may receive your honorable death either way.”

Hayato felt as if his heart had turned into a stone in the center of his chest. As if he was dead already. “…Yes, my lord. I will not fail you.”

Lord Oga nodded once, as if satisfied with his answer. “Good. You may go. You’ll leave at first light. You need your rest.”

Hayato stood and moved for the shoji screen.

“Hayato?”

The young samurai turned back to his lord.

“Your swords will be returned to you.” Lord Oga’s voice was flat as the _kotatsu_ table before him. _“_ If you do not bring me Lord Sakai, don’t dare to show your face here again.”

Hayato bowed once more and slipped out like a spirit.


	7. Arashi (Storm)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuna makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for all the wonderful comments and kudos, I love them so much. <3
> 
> Mood music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KP4VX7VO9tY

“You better not have gotten him drunk.”

Kenji looked up at the sound of Yuna’s warning whisper as she crept into the temple, opening the door as quietly as she could. Outside the blustering snow had turned into a full blizzard, and the cold wind pushed into the temple like an invisible knife. Outside it was late afternoon, but the sky was so dark it was almost impossible to tell what time it was.

“Of course not,” Kenji replied, keeping his voice low. Beside him on the tatami mat, Jin was crumpled in the pile of blankets, his breathing deep and even. “Just a little, to take the edge off. It’s the first time I’ve ever even seen him hurt,” Kenji added.

 _It’s not the first time I have._ Yuna remembered walking down the beach at Komoda, the blood so thick in the sand it had turned it to a red paste that oozed up around her sandals, tendrils of crimson floating out on the tide. She remembered looking out at the sand bar and seeing shark fins cruising the shallows between the shore and the Mongolian fleet, gliding like small gray sails.

She remembered she had thought Jin was dead at first like the rest of them, the first time she saw him. Jin had looked so young next to the maimed corpse of the fallen samurai beside him, jaw sheared away by a Mongol sword. Yuna went to go scavenge the arrows from his body, keeping an eye out for any lingering Mongols. When he made a hurt, almost child-like noise as she ripped the first one from his back, she almost jumped out of her skin with superstitious fright. She felt the memory of her instant guilt keenly, as if she had done it hours and not weeks before.

He had almost died then, after she pulled the second arrow, stripped him out of his armor and dragged his half-naked body off the beach as blood ran down his bare back in ribbons. There were a few times in the two days afterwards where she was sure that he would die anyway. But it seemed that he was too stubborn to die. Or at least that’s how she felt as she watched him storm Castle Kaneda on his own.

She came closer and kneeled silently beside them. The wind howled angrily around the eaves, rattling the temple doors in their frames and causing the flames of the braziers to whip and flutter.

“The storm is getting bad,” Kenji noted, looking towards the doors.

Yuna nodded, then glanced at Jin. “How is he?”

Kenji gave her a faint smile. “Sad.”

 _Oh Jin._ She sighed, reaching down to gently brush the hair out of Jin’s eyes and place her palm gently on his forehead. It still felt hot, hotter than it should, but his skin wasn’t radiating that frightening sick heat like it had been before. His skin was lightly sweaty, and she wiped her hand against her yukata, watching his face. _We need more tea._

“I’m worried,” she said, keeping her voice soft.

“Then we all should be,” Kenji shot back, resting his elbows on his knees. “…Do you think the samurai will come soon?”

“Worried they’re going to come looking for you?” Yuna said in a whisper, her voice lightly teasing.

“Wouldn’t you be? You’re not the one who released the Ghost.”

 _No. I’m the one who made him,_ Yuna thought, seeing Jin in her mind’s eye as he crept up on a Mongol guard for the first time, his struggle as he wrestled the man to the ground, stabbing him to death in a panicked flurry of blows, splattering his own face with blood as the man shook and wailed under his hands. Now it was as if Jin Sakai had become a man made of shadow. The Mongols never saw him coming. Yuna felt a weird mixture of guilt and pride. _He’s not the man he was._

She tucked a strand of black hair behind Jin’s ear and he stirred, making a low sound in the back of his throat, but he didn’t wake. His brow twitched and furrowed.

“I don’t know when they’ll come.” She shook her head, then glanced over at Kenji. “I don’t think they know where we are yet. I don’t know what we’re going to do. But you don’t have to worry, Kenji. I’m not going to let them take you _or_ Jin. I’ll die first.”

“Please don’t,” Kenji said earnestly.

_“Taka.”_

Both Yuna and Kenji froze at the sound of Jin’s low moan. Yuna looked down at where Jin’s hand had clasped into a trembling fist and took it, gently stretching out his fingers and smoothing her thumb over his palm as she had that morning when he cried over his uncle. It already let like years since she saw him walking up on Kaze in the pre-dawn dark, looking like the wind would knock him from his saddle.

After a few seconds of silence, the tension leaked out of the lines of his body beneath the blanket, and he sank deeper into sleep again. The wind cried again outside, and Yuna thought she could hear the sound of the monks chanting their prayers from the _honden._

“It’s not fair.”

Yuna looked at Kenji. “What do you mean?” she whispered.

“None of it.” He shrugged, looking at Jin. “It’s just not. That’s all.”

“It never is,” Yuna said. “All we can do is our best.”

“You aren’t angry over Taka?” Kenji said, his voice small.

Yuna closed her eyes. “The Khan killed him. Jin killed the Khan. Being angry doesn’t bring Taka back.” But that didn’t stop her from being angry all the same.

Not at Jin—she still felt terrible for screaming at him at Fort Koyosan—but at the entire situation. Everything since the Mongols landed. She and Taka had worked so hard, had scraped and saved to get to the mainland and start a new life… and for what? To have it all pulled out from under her.

Everything but Jin. And now they were coming for him too.

Daikoku had agreed to defend Jogaku, but Yuna had seen the uncertainty in his eyes as he spoke. He did not want to fight the mainlanders. He thought things were going too far.

 _As long as he stands when the time comes, he can think what he likes_. She gently withdrew her hand from Jin’s and grabbed the gourd of sake lying beside him, shaking it a little to see how much was in it before uncorking it and bringing it to her lips.

Kenji watched her face as she did it, then held his hand out expectedly, his eyebrows raised in expectation.

She snorted back laughter softly. “It’s good. It’s always good. I don’t know why you expect me to say one day that it tastes like cat piss.”

“It doesn’t hurt to hear it,” Kenji whispered back. “I do have pride in my work, you know. And what would you know about what cat piss tastes like?”

“I know it doesn’t taste like this,” she said, holding the gourd up to him in a half-salute. “Thank you.”

“I live to serve,” Kenji replied seriously. After a few moments, he added, “I could travel into Sago, see if anyone knows what the samurai are up to.”

“You’re an idiot,” Yuna said. “You are the second most wanted man in Jogaku other than Jin. And you’re not even a warrior. Kenji, please do me a favor and stick to warming up the refugees with sake. Please.”

“Someone has to go and see what they’re planning,” Kenji pointed out. “We can’t just sit up here and wait for them to come. Jin can’t go. You have to watch Jin. Daikoku has to protect everybody at the temple.”

“ _No,_ Kenji.” Yuna said, her voice raising slightly. Jin stirred again and let out a deep sigh. Kenji and Yuna sat in silence until he settled again, and then she whispered in a hiss, “I’ve already seen Taka dead. I’m not losing you too. They are _looking for you.”_

“I can’t do anything here,” Kenji insisted. “I want to help.”

Yuna sighed and closed her eyes, then looked back up at Kenji. “You can. You can watch over Jin while I go to Sago.” Even as she said it, she remembered Jin’s broken, hoarse whisper as he spoke to her earlier: _Please stay._

“If Jin wakes up and finds out I let you go to Sago alone he will murder me,” Kenji said.

“Jin loves you. He wouldn’t hurt you.”

Kenji raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m _pretty_ sure he would.”

“Daikoku will protect you.”

The sake seller crossed his arms over his chest. “Daikoku does _not_ like me.”

“His loss,” Yuna said, her face solemn, and Kenji glared back at her until they both cracked a smile. Kenji’s faded quickly though. “I don’t think you should go, Yuna. What about the storm?”

“It will help to hide me,” she said. “I can move more quietly in the snow.” She looked down into Jin’s face. He seemed pale to her from all the blood he had lost, his skin sallow beneath his beard. One of his eyes had swollen almost shut where the shield had hit him in the face.

_I’m sorry, Jin._

Kenji sighed. “If you think… I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Kenji, you said so. We have to know. And the samurai aren’t looking for me like they’re looking for you.” Yuna rose to her feet.

“You’re going _now?”_ Kenji whispered frantically, shooting a look over where Jin slept. “It’s getting dark! You can’t go out there in this.”

“Better to go in the storm. There’ll be less people to see me. I’ll be able to get in close. And we can’t afford to wait.”

“Yuna…” Kenji sighed. “Be careful.”

She glanced at Jin. “Take care of him. Tell him I said I would be back as soon as I could.”

She turned her back on them and walked out of the temple before Kenji could argue with her. The last thing she saw before closing the temple door behind her were Kenji’s dark, anxious eyes.

The winds outside had slowed somewhat, but snow still fell in a steady sheet that quickly drove off the warmth of the sake she drank, the sensation of Jin’s warm slack hand in her own. She squared her shoulders and drew her fur cape tighter around her, walking into the wind towards the stables.

Naoki heard her walking up and started stamping and whickering in his stall, kicking the side of it impatiently. She stepped in and slapped him on the flank lightly to stop his fussing, saddling him. She strapped on the sword that Taka had made for her and took her bow. She grabbed her dagger.

At the back of the stable was a chest where Jin had stored his meager belongings, near Kaze’s stall. After she packed a bag of rice balls stuffed with smoked fish and a gourd full of water, tying them to Naoki’s saddle, Yuna went over to the chest and opened it.

The Ghost armor was folded on top, the steel scales Taka had sewn into the leather and fabric glittering in the half-light. On top of it, the Ghost mask rested, black and gold lacquer gleaming.

Yuna hesitated a moment, almost closed the chest again. Then she pulled the armor out and started pulling it over her yukata. It smelled like blood to her, a faint smell like struck metal. It would have been too large for her, but the extra layer of clothing held the armor snug against her body. Once she had the armor on, she took off her headband and used it to tie her hair back into a topknot.

She reached back into the chest and pulled out Jin’s silver silk headband, the feel of it cool and soft against her fingertips. She tied it around her own forehead. She remembered her words to Kenji. _The samurai aren’t looking for me like they are for you._

 _But they could be,_ she thought. _I can draw them away from this place. If they think the Ghost is hiding in Sago, maybe they won’t come to Jogaku. Not yet._

Yuna put the Ghost mask on, tying it behind her head tightly so it wouldn’t shift around. It felt stiff and unfamiliar, her own warm breath billowing up into her face.

_How can he fight with this thing on?_

She closed the chest and latched it before she could lose her nerve and climbed up on Naoki, taking the reins. She trotted the horse out of the stables and towards the gates of the temple. When Daikoku’s men saw her coming, they hesitated a moment when they saw the armor, then recognized her horse and moved to open the gates for her.

She walked Naoki through the gate and heard a voice call out to her from the top of the wall. She looked up to see Daikoku perched up there, watching her.

 _“Don’t let anyone in unless they have women and children with them!”_ she shouted up at him.

Daikoku raised his hand to her in reply.

Yuna turned and headed into the storm, galloping along the edge of the frozen lake towards Sago.


	8. Yogore to Hi (Dirt and Fire)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hayato and Yuna head for Sago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everybody who is still keeping up with this fic! All of your comments are loved and appreciated more than you know. <3 If I forget to reply to your comment I totally apologize, I try to remember to reply to as many as I can. Even if I don't, know that I read it a bajillion times and it is one of the things that keeps me writing! 
> 
> This chapter was inspired by this song, "Dirt and Fire" by Eternal Eclipse: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pg0BDIox57Q&list=RDX7oy2aJDKpc&index=5

They brought Hayato his weapons and his father’s armor at first light.

Hayato bathed, then he returned to his cell, let the retainers dress his steam-scrubbed body in the armor while he stood tall. They strapped it carefully around the baggy kimono and pants he wore. He felt a coldness clutch his heart when they brought the armor in piece by piece, gleaming in the soft dawn light. They held the _do_ up to his chest, sun gleaming off the lacquered lamellae carved with golden cherry blossoms, the golden _sakura_ of Nara.

He stepped into his glittering thigh chainmail, let them tie his gold-chased pauldrons, pulled it up to his waist.

 _It’s too big._ Hayato was tall, but his father was taller and broader through the shoulders, considered a mountain of a man back in Nara. He didn’t have time to get the castle blacksmiths to adjust it. He made do with re-knotting the silk ties, having the retainers shift them until the armor was as snug as he could make it.

The retainers acted as if they were dressing him for _seppuku._ Hayato supposed in a way that’s exactly what they were doing. He focused on his breath, smelling the cool cedar of the room where he had been held a prisoner for almost three weeks. He focused on the mantra he had been repeating to himself since he slipped into meditation the previous night, his entire body buzzing with anticipation and fear.

_Lord Shimura, please forgive me._

When they were done, they brought him his father’s helmet and _happuri_ , the short, sharp spike antlers—meant to mimic the look of a yearling buck—glittering in the first pink rays of sunlight coming from the slotted window. He put the half mask on first, feeling it cradle his jaw and enclose his temples. Then he stood and let them place the helmet on his head, tying the _shinobi-no-o_ under his chin.

They brought him his father’s swords, and his own bow. He strapped _Hana_ to his waist and his tanto across from it. He stood and let them strap the cherry blossom _sashimono_ to his back.

“Your horse is ready, my lord,” one of the retainers said.

“Thank you.”

Hayato followed the man past the guard at his door, refusing to meet the guard’s gaze as he went. The household was still mostly quiet, and their footsteps seemed loud on the bamboo floors. The castle was cold with the encroaching chill of winter and the coming storms.

 _Father, protect me._ Hayato felt like a child in his father’s armor. When he was younger, he used to stare at it on its stand, desperately wanting to try it on but not quite daring to ask his father for the privilege.

It was heavier than it looked.

Hayato walked through the gardens of the castle, feeling eyes on him as he made his way towards the courtyard and the stables. A few samurai were already up in the courtyard, working through their forms with the sword, and they stopped to watch his passage as he went by, their faces impassive. Hayato looked at them only out of the corner of his eye as he passed. He could hear the _sashimono_ at his back flapping conspicuously in the hard, whipping wind.

Kaito danced in his stall when he smelled Hayato coming, whickering. They had already dressed him in his dragon chamfron and chest armor. It excited the stallion and he stamped, tossing his bay head. 

Oga’s servants had already packed the bags of his saddle with food and water. Without ceremony, Hayato climbed up onto Kaito’s back, the white tassels hanging from his _kura_ bobbing as the horse moved forward eagerly.

“Good boy,” Hayato said under his breath, urging the kiso horse through the courtyard. One he was clear, he moved Kaito into a trot, the horse’s armor ringing as he swept across the cobblestones towards the castle gates. A light, listless snow was blowing, decorating the wind with flurries.

Low thunder rolled a peal of warning and Hayato lifted his eyes to the blackening sky as he approached the northern castle gate. Lightning to the north brightened the sky in a sudden flash of white light before fresh thunder boomed across the courtyard. The guards saw him coming and pulled the door open onto the road to Kamiagata.

Hayato marched through it. He trotted Kaito until he reached the jito’s road, then urged Kaito into a gallop. Happy to be given his way, the horse shot down the ash-covered path, his hooves echoing the thunder above them.

**

Yuna stayed off the jito’s road as twilight closed into true darkness, shielding her.

She headed along the eastern edge of the island, past Fort Jogaku, staying close to the coast. Within an hour she felt frozen to Naoki’s back—the armor Taka had made for Jin was light and strong, but it wasn’t especially warm. She tried to ignore her teeth chattering and pushed Naoki onward, skirting the edge of the woods. The falling snow muffled noise and she strained to hear Mongols or others.

Villages were sparse in this part of Kamiagata, and what villages still stood were mostly dark and full of ghosts. Yuna edged around one of them, sticking to the treeline as she watched the wind tear at the paper of the broken _shoji_ screens. There was no village chatter on the wind, no warm glow of lanterns. She didn’t know the name of this village. There was no one left alive to tell her.

Half of the village was burning, thick black smoke billowing against the spread of stars overhead, the fires throwing insane shadows against the houses left standing.

Here they had kept prisoners from Komoda. She could see the cangue cages from a distance, the bodies of the slowly-strangled samurai still sitting in them. She focused on keeping her breath calm and smooth, even as she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up and her stomach roll.

Taka had told her what it was like, in those villages. If Jin hadn’t helped her save him when he did…

_Stop thinking about it. It doesn’t matter now. No one can hurt him now._

She was about to pass the deserted village by when she heard voices. Not Japanese.

Her first impulse was to pull Naoki deeper into the woods and keep going. But suddenly she remembered when she first met Jin back in Komoda, his dark eyes flickering with disdain at her when she told him that they couldn’t save everyone.

_I’m done running._

Yuna stopped Naoki, listening. She heard the voices again, coming from inside the village. She didn’t think there were any villagers left alive in the village, the Mongolians were probably just pillaging it for supplies… but what if there were?

What if the Mongolians had them now?

“Shit.”

Yuna dismounted and grabbed her bow, moving low as she crept up on the edge of the village in the dark. She had been riding in the dark for hours now, and her eyes were adjusted to the shadows. She pulled herself up silently onto the nearest roof, slinking across it almost on her belly.

Once she was on the roof, she could see the Mongols on the far side of the village. At least three of them. She started to let out a relieved sigh when she didn’t see any villagers, but then she heard a wail that made her breath catch in her throat. It was a woman or a child, impossible to tell from afar with the wind blowing against her back.

“ _Shit.”_

Yuna moved across the rooftops carefully, trying to flank the group. She dropped down behind a house and circled them like a wolf circling a herd of deer, moving down off the roofs so they wouldn’t spot her.

As she got closer, she heard the wailing more clearly. A child, not a woman. Young. Yuna froze in paralyzed horror as she got close enough to see.

One of the Mongols held a toddler up by the ankle, dangling the child like a man might carry a puppy by the scruff. The little boy shrieked and flailed helplessly. His small round face was full of blood as the Mongol held him upside down. The Mongol holding the boy bounced him, the feather plume on his helmet bobbing as he did. The Mongol swung him like a pendulum and the toddler shrieked louder, wailing with every breath. 

The Mongols laughed.

Yuna was frozen. _If I kill him, he’ll drop the boy. If I wound him… he’ll kill the boy. If I kill or wound one of the others, he’ll kill the boy._

_But it’s so dark._

She sent up a quick prayer to Hachiman, nocking an arrow. _Please. Please let me kill him._

Yuna came around the corner of the house at the man’s back and drew her bow in one smooth motion. She aimed at the nape of the Mongolian’s neck, but his helmet draped it in the dim, protecting it. His entire back was shielded against her. _I have to get him to turn around. And if I miss—_

 _“Mongol dogs!”_ she screamed.

As she hoped, the man with the boy turned around to face her and seek out the source of her voice in the snow. His face was unprotected, shining like a star in the darkness with two black pieces of jet shining out of it. She aimed at his eye.

Her bow twanged and the man made a harsh, gutteral noise, dropping the toddler in the snow as he fell forward on his face.

The other two Mongols were rushing her before the man’s body had stopped shuddering but Yuna was already dashing around the house like a fox, putting an arrow in the first man that followed her around. At first she was terrified that only one of them would follow her, but both surviving men chased her, and she felt relief as she drew the sole survivor away while she pulled another bow from her quiver, listening to the child’s cries in her ears like music.

Yuna turned around on the last Mongol as he rushed her, sword raised high. She let her arrow loose and he knocked it away with his sword before it could connect, aiming the next swing of his sword at her collarbone with a low battle cry. She felt the blade whistle through the air by her head as she dodged out of his way, dropping the bow to grab her dagger. 

The world went sideways as the man swung one large armored forearm at her head, catching her in the side of the face and crushing the lacquered mask on her face against her cheekbone, driving her sideways into the snow. Her dagger went skittering away across the ground.

And then the man was on top of her, his heavy weight pinning her hips to the cold earth, his greasy beard close to her face, within kissing distance. He grabbed her around the throat and squeezed tightly, cutting off her air.

She swung upwards and connected with his eye. She felt it give beneath her knuckles, felt them collide with the bones of his eye socket and bounce off, jarring her arm to the elbow. The Mongol cursed and grabbed her right wrist, shoving it to the ground. He narrowed his eyes at her but his crushing grip on her throat or wrist didn’t waver.

_“Emegtei khün?”_

Yuna threw her entire weight to the left, reaching her left arm out as far as she could even as she felt blackness crew in on the corners of her vision. She felt the handle of the dagger with her fingernails and used them to drag it into her hand. Before the Mongol could react, she drove the blade under his ribs, once and then again for good measure, twisting the blade.

The Mongol’s eyes widened in the dark, moonlight catching on the whites as he shivered all over and grew still. Warm blood pattered from his nose and mouth onto Yuna’s face as his hand loosened around her throat. She gasped for air, sputtering as some of the Mongol’s blood dripped into the mask. She shoved the man’s warm corpse off, her dagger handle still protruding from his side.

She ripped the Ghost mask off, her chest heaving as she tried to wipe the blood off her face with shaking hands and only managing to smear it around.

Yuna staggered to her feet and tied the mask to the sheath of her sword, pain racing up her throat every time she swallowed where the Mongol had squeezed it. She retrieved her dagger and bow. Then she ran back to where she found the Mongols.

The toddler sat in the middle of the street, staring at the man with the arrow coming out of his face. The boy had ran out of screams and was holding the Mongol’s boot as he looked at the corpse, his body hitching as he tried to control his sobs. Yuna saw that the boy’s nose had been bloodied or he had cried himself into a nosebleed, but otherwise he looked unharmed.

She listened silently in the dark for any other signs of the invaders—horse hooves, voices in nearby houses. There was nothing but the wind and the boy’s whimpers.

_Just the three of them then._

Ignoring the boy for a moment, she opened the _shoji_ screen of the house nearest to where the Mongols had been holding the boy. A woman’s decapitated head lay in the middle of the central room, the back of her yukata saturated with blood. Blood had spread around the stump of her neck in a red circle to soak the tatami mats.

Yuna just stood there and looked at the body for a moment, listening to the wind cry around the eaves of the ransacked house. She remembered Taka’s palm turned upwards towards a gray sky as he lay on the ground at Fort Koyosan, her scream at Jin and the stricken look on his face: _You shouldn’t have made him come!_

She backed away from the woman’s corpse, feeling another scream rise in her throat, her breath coming hard.

_Don’t. You’ll scare the boy._

She closed her eyes and tried to focus on Jin’s face in her mind’s eye until her pounding heart slowed and she felt like she could breathe again without screaming. She walked back out of the house to where the boy was still sitting in the snow and the dark.

He whimpered and drew away from her when she approached him. When Yuna got closer, she was struck by how young he was. He couldn’t have been more than two years old. She picked him up and noticed that his _jinbei_ was soaked with urine. She felt a heavy pang of pity as the little boy laid his head against her shoulder, his thumb going to his mouth under glazed eyes and the crust of blood beneath his snub nose. The boy’s bare hands and feet felt like ice.

Yuna whistled for Naoki. When the stallion rode up to her, she pulled down her bedroll and wrapped the toddler tightly into it, then took her fur cape and wrapped that around him too, until nothing but the boy’s pale, still face could be seen.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered, holding the boy close against her heart as she carefully mounted the stallion. She cradled him against her chest. Her cheek pounded in time with her heartbeat where the Mongol had backhanded her into the frozen ground, and her throat throbbed, but the cold storm air felt good against her bare face as she prodded Naoki into a trot, moving into Sago Forest. She felt blood trickle down her cheek and took a deep breath of still night air. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

She didn’t know if she was talking to the orphan or herself.

**

 _Emegtei khün? -_ A woman?


	9. Kaidan (Ghost Story)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuna heads for the sanctuary of Cedar Temple. Hayato hunts The Ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much to everyone who is still faithfully reading along with this and commenting. I love you guys and I write this for you! <3 :) Sorry again for any little typos, I write these super fast so sometimes I miss one or two in the edits (especially if I type the wrong word entirely instead of misspelling, which is how I usually typo). I'll fix them as quick as I find them! 
> 
> This chapter brought to you by "Champion" from Fall Out Boy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JJJpRl2cTJc 
> 
> Happy WIP Wednesday!!!! **Don't be afraid to put some prompts or requests in the comments! I would like to help build the GoT fic archive up! :D**
> 
> _I'm just young enough to still believe, still believe  
>  But young enough not to know what to believe in_  
> 

It seemed that the forest only grew darker and colder the further that Yuna ventured south, and without the benefit of a torch she had to go slowly with less moonlight to guide her. With the storm coming and no way to see where the moon hung in the sky beneath the thick canopy, it was hard to tell how much of the night there was left. She tried to keep closer to the outskirts of the forest near the road, where the woods were thinner, and more light could leak down through the trees as they rustled around her.

Thankfully, Naoki was as patient on the path as he was impatient in the stables, and the samurai horse picked his way through the woodland darkness with the sure feet of a mountain goat. A fox crossed the game trail ahead of Yuna, its bright eyes shining like a flash of diamond in the shadows before it dashed away again, heading deeper into the forest. She decided to take it as a good omen but did not follow it.

Once they were far from the village and she knew no Mongols would follow, Yuna put the mask back on after attempting to rub any drying blood from the inside of it. She balanced the toddler against her chest, resting him on the saddle as she tied the mask back before taking him up in one arm again.

She moved slowly and carefully since the boy couldn’t cling to her—she had wrapped him like a papoose on a cradleboard, his hands snug and warm inside the bedroll with only his face exposed to the wind and snow. The boy was not light, and her left arm was beginning to ache from the strain of carrying him. But she wanted him to stay as warm as she could keep him, especially in his snow-damp clothes.

Yuna wet the corner of the bedroll with spit and used it to gently brush at the dried blood on the boy’s face. He let her do it, dark eyes shining up at her in silence, small lips trembling. It hurt her heart to watch a toddler look at her that way, as if waiting for the killing blow to fall. He reminded her of Taka when he was little, how she would wipe the blood from his face after their mother slapped him for getting in the way when all he wanted was her attention.

She thought about the woman back in the hut as she rode: the missing head, the blood in a dark red fan. She tried not to, but the image felt burned into her mind.

Was it the boy’s mother? A mother that had doted on him instead of beaten him? There was no way to tell. _Thank the gods he is so young. He won’t remember it._ At least Yuna hoped he wouldn’t remember it. Taka didn’t remember the Wolf, but he had still moaned in his sleep for years, still flinched from a friendly hand like a beaten dog would, still had difficulty meeting a man’s gaze the rest of his life.

She looked down into the boy’s face. What would he take forward into his life turned upside-down? Would he remember the sound of Mongol laughter in his dreams, the feeling of being ripped from his mother’s arms as she screamed?

Yuna had never thought of having children before. If she had, she couldn’t remember considering it, even as a young girl at the age where other girls were doting on their dolls. Yuna spent too much time running interference with her mother to bother with girlish fantasies about diaper-changing and feedings.

It was hard enough just keeping herself and Taka alive, and she had failed at even that. She glanced down at the boy.

_Not again. I won’t let it happen again._

Yuna was torn. She had to get the boy to shelter, fast—but she couldn’t ride the road without worrying about running into Mongols, and she couldn’t fight with the boy. Skirting the road and sticking to the woods was safer, but slower…and the boy was cold. So was she. Lighting a fire was too dangerous. There were no good options.

“What should we do, _kabu?”_ she asked the little boy in a whisper. The orphan had no answer for her, only blinked up at her like an owlet. 

She edged Naoki back towards the edge of the forest where the road ran. She decided that if she didn’t see any Mongols by the time the moon began to sink, she would risk riding the road.

Until then she rode in earshot of it, listening for the voices of the invaders.

**

_You are the wild rose  
blooming in the field  
You take hold of me  
going home at sundown_

_Partly glad and partly ashamed am I  
for an ill fortune you give rise to  
You are the white lily  
far above my reach_

Hayato sang as he rode down the road, unnerved by the silence of broken Kamiagata. The sound of his own voice encouraged him and seemed to encourage Kaito too—the bay stallion tossed his head almost cheerfully as they trotted down the road, despite the cold. He rode through the day until it sank into twilight and darkness. He ran through all of the songs he could remember to keep his mind occupied as he rode, to keep him from thinking of where he was riding to.

At first he had ridden soundlessly and swiftly, afraid to draw Mongols down on himself. Then he sang to keep from being afraid. He could still see distant fires burning in the hills, broken villages. At one point he passed a trio of bodies that were burned into blackened husks and tied to stakes, their mouths locked into silent forever screams. The sight chilled his blood. The songs left him.

He stopped Kaito in grim silence and pulled the bodies down, his face twisting in revulsion as the skin sloughed off the corpses like the skin of a cooked chicken. He held his breath as he felt his gorge rise.

Hayato had no weapons to dig, and he saw no living farmers to ask for a shovel. The fields were barren and dark, abandoned. The ground was frozen, too cold to dig by hand. He satisfied himself with lying the bodies gently along the side of the road and bowing over them, saying a silent prayer.

 _I will avenge you._ Hayato felt a cold anger burning deep in his gut as he looked at the pitiful bodies, climbing back onto Kaito’s back. _I swear it. As soon as I catch the Ghost, I will drive every Mongolian bastard from this island._

By midnight, when he passed through a massacred village, bodies left to stiffen and freeze under the cold moon in streets and doorways, he realized why no one had buried the ones on the road. There were no people left to make burials. There were too many corpses. He rubbed his hands on his armor with disgust, trying to erase the sensation of decaying, charred flesh from his fingertips. Kaito snorted and reared at the bloodbath, eyes rolling. Hayato patted him on the neck, soothing him.

Walking Kaito into the village slowly, Hayato passed three cangue cages. Samurai hung in them in their battle armor, their faces blackened from slow strangling, eyes bulging. Hayato felt a strong wave of cold fear pass over him, the shadow of a heron over a pond before striking. He refocused on his breath, letting it out in a hard white plume against the wind.

He saw a dead Mongol among the dead villagers at the end of the main street and rode over to them. One was lying on his face, and Hayato saw the remnants of a Japanese arrow. Hayato dismounted and kneeled next to the dead man, rolling him over. The broken shaft of the arrow protruded from a pool of gore where his eye used to be. His teeth were bared and clenched, like a dog that has died fighting. Hayato narrowed his eyes.

 _Someone fought back. …The Ghost?_ If Jin Sakai was wounded as badly as Lord Oga seemed to think, Hayato had a hard time imagining him in a fight. _Maybe that’s why he used the arrows. Too hurt for a sword._ The thought was cheering to Hayato. If Sakai was too wounded to fight with a sword, maybe he was weak enough to actually defeat. 

Hayato looked up and saw boots pointed at the sky around the edge of the house closest to where the dead Mongol lay. He stood and walked around the house.

Two more dead Mongols lay here. One had an arrow in his throat, a hand still clasped uselessly around the shaft protruding from his neck. Another laid about fifty feet ahead. Hayato walked up to him, looking at the disrupted snow, the chasing footprints.

 _Someone ambushed these men and killed them._ Hayato looked up suddenly, his eyes sweeping the village for shadows, signs of movement. There was nothing except the storm wind.

Hayato examined the third body. Not an arrow this time—the man had been stabbed to death, his life blood let out onto the snow. Hayato looked and saw the indentation of footprints leading back into the village. He followed them back, moonlight gleaming on his golden armor as he walked the deadly silent yard, abandoned laundry flapping on a line as he passed through it.

The footprints led back to the first Mongolian. _Why did he come back?_ Hayato looked at the area where the dead Mongolian lay, but there were footprints everywhere here, half of them leading to bodies lying dead in the snow. Fresh snow had obscured the rest. He had no torch to see by, and the glittering snow had already hidden most of the tracks here.

“Damn,” he whispered. He looked back towards the back of the house where the other Mongolians were lying dead. _He was just here. I_ know _it was him._

He got on Kaito’s back and circled the village briefly, looking for more tracks, but the snow had been falling harder for hours, and with so many tracks fleeing the village into the forest, there was no way to tell which tracks belonged to whom. But Hayato noticed that freshest of the tracks were headed towards the southeast. Not north, the direction he had been heading.

 _That’s the way to Cedar Temple,_ Hayato thought, remembering the landmarks marked on the map he had tucked in his saddlebag. _If there are survivors who know where the Ghost is, they will be headed there for sanctuary from the Mongols and the weather._

He had no way to know that for sure, of course. But Hayato was cold, and tired, and hungry, and willing to take whatever lead he could find.

Hayato turned his horse east along the road to head towards the forest road and Cedar Temple, abandoning the jito’s road headed for the northern tip of the island.

As the hours passed and the endless night dragged on into the hours before dawn, he felt silly for his momentary fear. Jin Sakai had killed Mongols from one end of the island to the other. Even wounded, he had managed to kill three of them. How difficult of a fight could they really put up?

If it was even him. If he was still alive. 

The truth was, Hayato didn’t know if either was true. The truth was, Hayato didn’t know anything.

But despite his inexperience, Hayato was confident in his skills. He remembered Oga’s words to him.

_I heard you’re one of the best swordsmen in Nara._

Hayato hadn’t wanted to brag. He didn’t believe in it. It was bad luck to talk about one’s skill as a warrior, it was begging the gods to strike you down as far as Hayato was concerned. But he knew his own skill, and while he didn’t think he could beat Jin Sakai in a fair fight, he wasn’t afraid to face him in one, either.

_If anyone can kill him, I can,_ Hayato thought, and it didn’t feel like a lie. He had been practicing with a sword since he was old enough to stand. While Hayato’s father had married into a wealthy merchant family because all of his father's friends had sons instead of daughters, Hayato’s father was a samurai first and a merchant second. He had instilled this in Hayato, too.

_Steel before gold, boy. Always. You can’t protect one without the other._

In any case, he had seen no Mongols since he crossed the border into Kamiagata that weren’t already dead.

As he slowed Kaito from a gallop to a resting walk and ventured further into Sago Prefecture through the Bitter Hills, headed east, the only Mongols he saw were lying in the snow like fallen statues, covered with a blanket of blood-crusted snow. Who killed them? No one could say. Certainly not them.

 _The Ghost,_ Hayato thought, and shivered from more than just the biting cold. At least the snow had lessened, but the skies above the west still looked black and forbidding. _Taifuu_ weather.

The silence of the road began to get to him, the sound of the storm wind moaning in the trees and grass making him jumpy.

Suddenly, Hayato heard a faint sound he recognized as crying up ahead on the road and hurried Kaito along, cresting the hill. A man, a woman, and a young girl were huddled at the roadside in the moonlight, the man comforting the woman. She had her face buried in her hands, sobbing. The girl, covered in soot, stood at her side in dazed silence, staring across the fields with a blank expression.

When they heard Kaito and saw the samurai approaching them, his _sashimono_ flapping in the wind, the man cried out in shock and took his hand from his wife’s shoulder, throwing himself into the dirt before Hayato’s horse, bowing with his face to the ground. The woman and girl behind him followed suit, lowering their bodies and turning their faces away.

“My lord, please do not kill me!” the man cried out.

Hayato scowled, pulling Kaito up short. The stallion snorted and reared, the golden dragon on his chamfron seeming to writhe and snarl in the half-light.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Hayato said, still frowning. He left his sword sheathed—all three of them were obviously unarmed.

_Why are the peasants so afraid of us? What has the Ghost told them?_

Hayato dismounted. “Get up.” His voice was brusque to cover his embarrassment. He was used to seeing peasants bow to him. His family was the richest in Nara. But this wasn’t the same kind of bowing as that. These people were terrified, groveling. It shamed Hayato that they were terrified of him. And it angered him.

_He really is turning them against us. Lord Oga was right._

The man stood reluctantly, looking up into Hayato’s face. Hayato saw that his lip had been broken recently, swollen and bloodied. The women—his wife and child, Hayato assumed—crept up behind him, hiding in his shadow.

“What’s your name?” Hayato asked.

“Hiroku, my lord.”

“Have no fear, Hiroku,” Hayato said. “I mean you and your family no harm. My name is Hayato Mori. I’m a samurai in service of Lord Oga.” Just saying the words made him feel stronger, and he held his head high beneath his helmet.

The man visibly relaxed, though his eyes were still full of fear.

“Have you come to kill the Mongols, my lord?”

“I’ve come to find The Ghost.” Hayato watched their faces carefully, keeping his voice stern. “I hear his encampment is in Kamiagata. Can you tell me where to find him? I have to pass a message to him from the shogunate.”

“The Ghost?” The man looked at his wife and child, then back at Hayato. Hayato didn’t like the cagey expression on his face. “My lord, we know nothing of The Ghost except that he is a hero. Rumors say his army is in Jogaku Prefecture, but I have never been that far north. The roads have been blocked by the Mongols and bandits.”

 _Hero._ Hayato huffed out a disbelieving snort, turning back to his saddlebags. He went through his provisions. “The Ghost murdered Lord Shimura. You should choose your heroes more carefully, sir.”

“But…Lord Mori, The Ghost saved my daughter’s life,” the man replied, his voice soft. He gestured to his daughter. “The Mongols had taken her. There’s no telling what they would have done. Lord Sakai killed them all and set our village free.”

Hayato paused where he was pulling out a bundle of steamed rice balls wrapped in bamboo leaves and silk, along with a crock of pickled vegetables. He turned to Hiroku. “Set you free?”

“Yes, my lord.” Hiroku bowed his head low. “He has freed prisoners all over Kamiagata. And he killed the Khan.” 

No one had told Hayato this. _Do the samurai even know?_ he thought.

“The Khan is _dead?”_

The peasant man nodded. “For at least a week. Killed at Port Izumi. They say Lord Sakai stole the armor forged for the Mongolian commander and wore it against him in battle.”

 _Next, you’ll tell me that he can turn into a fox or kill his enemies by whispering in their ears._ Hayato resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man. Peasants would believe anything.

Hayato handed the man his food. “Here. You look hungry.”

The man’s eyes glistened with tears. “I… thank you, my lord. You don’t know what this means to us.”

“I do,” Hayato said, smiling a little. Hayato nodded to the women hiding behind him before getting back on his horse. “Where do you intend to go?” Hayato asked.

“We are headed to Cedar Temple, my lord,” Hiroku answered.

“Perfect. So am I.” Hayato remembered the dead villagers lying sprawled like so many abused dolls in the village. He couldn’t help imagining more Mongols coming on these three, their cruel laughter as they raped the women and tortured the father in front of them.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll join you. You’ll be safer on the road.”

Hiroku looked up at him. “My lord, you honor us.” There were fresh tears in his voice, but to his credit the peasant man stood straight and blinked hard, not letting them fall.

Hayato walked Kaito slowly along the road as the peasant family walked beside him.

_Someone at the temple will know something._

He didn’t mention Jin Sakai to the peasants again.

Hayato rode in silence, keeping his own counsel.

***

 _kabu_ \- turnip

Note: The ballad in this fic is a real ballad (or yunta) from feudal Japan called "Asadoya Yunta of Okinawa".


	10. Tsuiseki (Chase)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin discovers that Yuna is gone. He is not happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much for the kudos and comments, the fact that people are actively reading along is why I continue to write so quickly. :D 
> 
> Here was my musical inspiration for this chapter: "All the Same" by Sick Puppies - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QdFOemP1dR0

“That was so _stupid,”_ Kenji muttered, then clapped a hand over his mouth, as if realizing that even the slightest noise could wake Jin.

 _He’s going to_ kill _me._

Yuna hadn’t been gone an hour yet, and Jin slept on. Kenji realized a little belatedly that if he had thought to only open his mouth and wake Jin up, Jin would have stopped her from going. But it was too late now. A dozen times he crept up to Jin, reaching out to shake him awake, and each time he chickened out—he grimaced and brought his fist up to his mouth instead, watching Jin’s face.

 _I am a dead man._

But what could Lord Sakai do? He was still so weak, even Kenji had seen that, and he was no healer. If Kenji woke him now, he would only put himself in danger trying to go after her.

Kenji consoled himself that Yuna was strong and fast and not afraid to kill. He silently practiced his justifications for letting her go as he wrestled with the urge to shake Lord Sakai awake and beg his forgiveness, telling the samurai where she went.

Finally, after an hour had passed in this torture of indecision, it seemed too late to take it back. But he couldn’t sleep. Kenji’s mind supplied him with an endless loop of scenarios where he had to explain what had happened to Lord Sakai. He sipped sake and watched Jin’s face, waiting for him to wake up at any second. But the wounded samurai slept on—grief, weeks of heavy combat, and sleeping with grass for his pillow combined to leave him exhausted. In his first real bed in weeks, he was beyond reach unless Kenji was willing to wake him.

Which he absolutely was not. 

Resigned to his eventual fate, Kenji backed away from Jin and headed over to rest his back against the temple wall.

He took his straw hat and pulled it down over his face, and soon he was snoring gently.

**

When Jin opened his eyes again, the first gray light of morning was beginning to creep into the slotted windows of the temple. The first thing he saw was Kenji curled up next to the wall of the temple. He was lying on his side in a half moon, his arms under his head and his straw hat resting over his face.

He sat up and stretched his stiffened muscles, yawning. The temple was dark—the candles had burned down sometime in the night, unattended by the monks, but the braziers were still glowing.

Jin shivered, but not from the cold. He remembered a fragment of a dream he had while he was sleeping. He was back in Koyosan, captured by the Khan with Taka. Only this time he knew what was going to happen. The whole time he was tied to the stake, he knew. _He’ll let you go,_ Jin was babbling, _and you must_ run, _Taka._

The Khan came. He murmured the same cajoling words. He grabbed Jin’s sword again. He cut Taka free.

_Don’t fight! Kill me, Taka!_

But Taka had looked into his eyes, the same as he had when Jin had told him to run. He turned on the Khan. The Khan drove him into the dirt.

_Taka!_

Jin closed his eyes and sighed. The dream had felt so real, it was as if he was living it again. He rubbed his face and tucked stray strands of hair behind his ears, looking around inside the temple.

_Yuna?_

She wasn’t there. _She must be down at the stables, or at the honden._ Jin glanced over at where Kenji was sleeping soundly. Guard duty. _Some guard._ He smiled a little.

 _That swindler has turned out to be one of my truest friends on the island._

“Kenji.”

The sake seller stirred, taking a deep breath before he sat up. As soon as he opened his eyes and saw Jin looking at him, his face stricken. Jin had seen that expression before. It was an expression that Kenji had when he had seriously fucked something up.

“Kenji,” Jin repeated, warm and warning.

“Lord Sakai, forgive me.”

_Good gods._

“Do I even want to know what I’m forgiving you for this time?”

Kenji hid behind his hat, using it as a shield as he peeked over the top edge of it.

“Yuna left.”

“She… she _what?”_ Jin’s voice took on a thunderous, disbelieving tone. He came to his feet, feeling his wounds howl with protest but for the moment not caring. _She left? Why? Why would she risk it? She knows that they’re hunting us._ Worry rose up in his throat like a hot stone. He knew that Yuna was strong, but he couldn’t help imagining her ambushed by Mongols or captured by the samurai.

The samurai knew of her connection to him, she was there at Castle Shimura right at his side. From what he had heard through the gossip of his prison guards, she had barely made it out with his weapons, the samurai running her down on horseback until she lost them in the Bitter Hills. Given that Jin had never managed to beat her in a race on horse, he was unsurprised at her escape. Naoki was faster even than Nobu had been.

 _She could have gotten so far._ Jin’s heart felt like it was sinking in his chest. _She could be anywhere._

“Kenji… _how could you let her go!?”_ The sake seller flinched at the sound of Jin’s roaring question echoing off the temple rafters.

“I’m more scared of Yuna than I am of you,” Kenji replied without thinking, but the forbidding expression on Jin’s face made him regret it instantly.

“That is a _mistake, Kenji.”_

Kenji went to his knees, placing his forehead against the wooden planks of the temple floor. “My _lord,_ you haven’t known Yuna that long. You’ve never tried to stop her from doing anything,” he replied, his voice small. “She told me to tell you she would be back soon. She was worried about what the samurai are going to do. She thought only to protect you.”

“You know what they’re going to do,” Jin asked, his voice dangerously soft. “They’re going to kill her. Or they’re going to capture her to try and kill me. She should have _never_ left here, Kenji. Not without me.” Jin put a hand over his face and closed his eyes tightly, wanting to throw something or knock the candles askew in a rage, and trying desperately to resist the urge. The sake seller was already quaking like a leaf at his feet.

“I’m sorry Lord Sakai, I’m an idiot.”

_“I know.”_

The sake seller bowed his head. After a few tense moments of silence, Jin sighed. “… I’m sorry, Kenji. That was beneath me. I know how Yuna is. She wouldn’t have listened to you anyway.”

“She said she would be back soon,” Kenji repeated, his voice hopeful.

Jin shook his head, then reached down and grabbed his hakama. He let out a huff of renewed frustration when he remembered it had been cut from his body, hanging in bloodied scraps. He tossed it down and put his socks and sandals on. He grabbed his swords instead where they were lying by the bed. He walked towards the temple door in nothing but his sandals, his bloodstained fundoshi, and bandages. He tried to do it without limping—his progress was slow and stilted. Kenji’s fawning smile faded rapidly. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Where do you think?”

“My lord, _no._ ” Kenji scrambled towards him and threw himself in front of the temple doors, holding his hands out at Jin in supplication. “Please. Yuna is already in danger and gone from here. If you leave too, the only one left to protect the temple is Daikoku and his men. And you’re still wounded, you shouldn’t travel. You still have a fever. She told me to protect you!”

“There are more able-bodied warriors here than anywhere else in Tsushima other than Shimura Castle,” Jin said, his voice hard and unmoving. He wasn’t being melodramatic, Kenji saw—the wild flush really had returned to Jin’s cheeks, and beads of sweat shone at his temple beneath the bandage around his head.

“Move.”

Kenji placed his palms together. “Lord Sakai, _please._ You aren’t healthy enough to go. Yuna will kill me if I let you leave while you’re hurt. Have Daikoku send men after her, my lord. His scouts can find her and bring her back.”

“Kenji, if you don’t move out of my way, I will prove to you how healthy I am by picking you up and throwing you across this temple.”

Kenji immediately stood aside at the tone in Jin’s voice. Jin pulled the temple door open and walked out into the blistering dawn cold.

“My lord, you have no _clothes!”_

“Where do you think I’m going?” Jin shouted back at him, the wind whipping his hair around his head. He limped across the temple grounds to the stables with his arms crossed over his bare, bloodied chest, his body trembling with the cold. Lightning flashed to the west, illuminating the snow in a sudden strobe. He immediately regretted the decision to not wrap the blanket around himself before leaving the temple. A few of Daikoku’s men loitered in the temple courtyard with a few of the refugees, and they gawked at him soundlessly as he stormed past them, hardly remembering to bow in his wake.

Jin went into the stables. Kaze called out a greeting nicker to him as he walked up, the skinny stallion begging for food, still thin from neglect before he was called into Jin’s service. Jin put a feed bag full of grain on his nose to ready him for the ride. Then he headed for his equipment chest where his extra hakamas, clothing, and armor were stored. He unhooked the latch and opened it.

It was gone.

He scowled, reaching down to dig through the chest, slowly at first and then his movements growing more disbelieving and frantic. Everything else was there.

Everything but Taka’s armor and the mask.

_Yuna._

“Damn it,” Jin whispered, feeling fresh dread strike his heart, making him feel lightheaded. He knew she had to have taken it. No other person at Jogaku would dare to touch his things. _Once a thief, always a thief._ Which meant she was wearing it.

_She plans to draw them off._

“Yuna,” he whispered, horrified.

_Why? Why take the risk?_

_You said you wouldn’t leave._

jin put on a fresh folded hakama, then brought up his father’s armor instead, the clan armor of Sakai. He ran his fingertips across the black lacquered scales of the pauldrons, pulling out the helmet by one antler. He hadn’t worn this armor since before he retook Castle Shimura. Not since his uncle forced him to _really_ become the Ghost. Even just touching the samurai armor drew fresh pangs of grief from him.

_Clan Sakai is gone. Clan Shimura is gone. This is the armor of a dead man._

Jin put the heavy armor on as quickly as he could with his wounds, his fingers growing numb in the freezing cold. Already his body had begun to ache, but the frigid autumn wind felt good on his hot face. It felt good to be doing something, anything to bring her back.

Kenji’s head peeked around the edge of the stable threshold, watching him as he dressed. He had a pack on his back. The sake seller looked crushed. “Lord Sakai, I’m sorry.”

Jin glanced over his shoulder, his face an angry carved mask. He reminded Kenji of a _sumi_ drawing of a samurai, all furious shadow. “And I suppose they just let her ride out of here with my armor, too?” His voice was low and bitter as he tied his chainmail around his waist.

“I… she took your armor?”

“Where was she going?” Jin said without repeating himself, tying down his pauldrons before putting his helmet on. After wearing the armor Taka made for him, the Sakai armor felt heavy. Jin didn’t think that weight was all steel and lacquer and leather and silk either. Some of it was memory. The _do_ laid heavily on his chest wound and he gritted his teeth against the pain as he twisted his body to tie on his swords.

“She was headed to Sago.”

 _Of course. As far south from here as she can get without actually being in Castle Shimura,_ Jin thought, trying to drive down his helpless anger.

He heard his uncle’s voice in his mind, like a ghost: _You are ruled by your emotions._

 _I just don’t want anyone else to die,_ Jin thought, having to lean against the stable wall as he made his way Kaze’s stall. _I don’t want anyone I love to die for me ever again._

“Lord Sakai, you can’t ride to Sago in this storm. There’s still Mongol territory between here and there.”

Jin opened the stall door and grabbed his saddle, throwing it up on Kaze’s back and tightening the straps. “Kenji, I may no longer have a castle, but I am the lord of this island. Quit telling me what I can and can’t do.”

“I… then I will have to come with you, my lord.” Kenji straightened himself up. “You leave me no choice.”

“You will stay here, where it is safe, and protect these people.” Jin’s voice was grim as he climbed gingerly into the saddle, pulling himself onto Kaze’s back. He looked down at Kenji from beneath his antlered helmet, a great dark forbidding shadow.

“I’m coming with you.” Kenji turned his back on Jin, headed for one of the horses in the other stalls.

Jin held a gauntleted fist at him. His angry and hurt trembling caused the scales on his armor to glitter in the half-light of the stables. “Kenji… you are pushing me. I am working very hard on forgiving you for letting Yuna leave here and steal my armor, but you are _pushing me._ ”

“It can’t be helped,” Kenji said meekly, getting on his own horse. “Yuna told me to watch you. I can’t watch you if you’re not here.”

_“Yuna is not the lord of Tsushima.”_

“My lord, it’s my job to push you. I’m your friend. I’m the only one who will tell you the truth. And the truth is you cannot do this alone.”

Jin remembered his thoughts on waking to see the sake seller curled up along the wall of the temple, watching over him like a faithful dog: _That swindler has turned out to be one of my truest friends on the island._

  
“Kenji, I don’t want to have to protect you,” he replied, frustrated.

“You don’t have to defend me, my lord,” Kenji said, bowing slightly from his saddle. “I have a bow. Yuna has taught me to use it. I am not completely useless at it. Please let me be of real service to you. I packed medicine and food. You brought nothing.”

The samurai lord shook his head. “There will be Mongols. Bandits.”

“I will be with The Ghost. I have fought alongside you before.”

 _You have also locked yourself inside a bear cage before._

Jin buried his face in his hands for a minute, sighing.

“I wish you wouldn’t go,” he said.

“I wish _you_ wouldn’t go. But alas, my lord, saddled we sit.”

Jin gave Kenji one more long look, then grabbed the reins and walked Kaze out of the stable, the tassels on his saddle swaying in the morning breeze. “…Come then.”

Kenji fell in step beside him as they moved through the courtyard of the temple towards the temple gate. Daikoku jogged up to them.

“My lord? Where are you going?”

_At least he didn’t tell me that I can’t go._

Jin looked down at him, scowling in his blackened armor. His words were clipped, and he already sounded breathless with pain. “To retrieve Lady Yuna. Close these temple gates behind us, and do not open them until we return. Not for samurai. Not for anyone.”

“I… yes, my lord,” Daikoku said, looking from Jin to Kenji, his brow furrowing into a suspicious line, as if whatever Jin was doing up out of his sick bed was entirely Kenji’s fault. The sake seller shrugged at him helplessly.

Kenji and the exiled lord of Tsushima headed south on the road. 


	11. Kakure Basho (Hiding Place)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuna finds friendly faces at Cedar Temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for continuing to read along with me and comment as I work on this, I literally let out a shriek of delight every time I see a comment in my inbox so you have no idea how much I appreciate them, especially when the writing is going hard. 
> 
> Today's chapter brought to you by "White Flag Warrior" by Flobots! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lsgbb23z27w
> 
> As usual, if anyone has any prompts or challenges or ships they wanna see or whatever, just let me know. I'm always on the lookout for Ghost of Tsushima one-shots to do when I need a break from Orphans. Or, you know, just any ideas for other GoT longfic. Anything really. 
> 
> I'll be working on writing some nonfiction for a change on assignment for the next two days, so I made this a long chapter in case there is a slight update delay for the next one. TGIF <3 
> 
> _We'd rather make our children martyrs than murderers_  
>  _We'd rather make our children white flag warriors_

When Yuna finally spotted the pagoda of Cedar Temple rising up through the trees ahead, the boy had begun to fuss and cry. She unwrapped him from the cape and bedroll a little, letting him stretch his legs and arms a little. She cuddled the boy to her, pretending her hand was a spider and crawling it up his leg to attack his belly and tickle him.

Soon she had him giggling a little, black eyes sparkling up at her, his chubby hands grabbing handfuls of her yukata sleeve. She was astounded by how resilient children were.

_Maybe he didn’t see anything. Maybe the Mongols carried him away before—_

She stared down into that small round face, trying to see what he could have seen. He just looked back up at her. “Down,” he said.

“Oh, you can talk?” Yuna smiled. _That’s good._ She was afraid that what he had seen would drive the words from him. Taka hadn’t spoken for almost two weeks after they went to the Black Wolf and were taken to the Mamushi Brothers. He simply slipped into himself to hide from the pain and fear, like a turtle going into its shell.

Yuna put him on the ground for a moment so she could go through her saddlebag. The little boy yelped and tried to keep his bare feet out of the snow, toddling over and grabbing Naoki’s foreleg for purchase. The war horse stood steadily, not lifting his hooves from the ground as he reached down to snuffle the boy’s hair.

Yuna started pulling off the Ghost armor, storing it back in her bag.

 _I can’t walk into the temple dressed as the Ghost,_ she thought, watching the little boy wander a few feet to pick up a fallen pine branch and whip it through the top of a snow drift like he was beating a carpet. _Not with Kabu._

Once she had the armor and mask stored away, she picked up the boy again and bounced him a little. He clung to the front of her yukata like a damp monkey, his bare toes digging into her waist as he clutched her. His rough-shorn hair was longer, curling at the nape of his neck.

“Down,” he said again, arms reaching for the snowy grass again.

“No, not now. We have to go.”

“Go bye?”

“Go bye.” Yuna hugged the boy closer to her before wrapping him back up in the bedroll and cape again. She carefully climbed back onto Naoki’s back with Kabu, using a tree stump to get up more easily. The boy was a warm, solid weight in the cold pre-dawn darkness, and she found herself glad to have him. The road was quiet and—to Yuna—seemed rife with wandering spirits.

When she trotted Naoki up to the pagoda, she felt her heart rise as she recognized a familiar face.

_“Norio!”_

She nudged the war horse forward into a canter to where she had spotted the large monk sweeping snow off the temple porch. He laid the broom against the side of the temple and raised a hand to her in greeting. The temple was weirdly peaceful to Yuna after the last time she had seen Norio with his naginata, all vengeance and fire.

“Yuna?” He tilted his head at her as she pulled up to him, climbing down with the boy in her arms. He started to bow to her, but she walked up and gave him a one-armed hug, feeling him startle under her arm. “What are you doing here? You look half-frozen.”

“I rode here from Jogaku.”

Norio looked at the boy in her arms. “Yours?” he asked, curious.

She shook her head, thinking of the dead woman with a fan of blood where her head used to be. “No one’s.”

Norio blinked and lowered his head, understanding. “Ah. Yes. We have several like him inside the temple. Luckily, the refugees help to watch out for them, and the older children help to look out for the younger ones. Everyone does their part. They’re just happy to be alive.”

“You have children here?” Yuna asked, glancing at the pagoda behind Norio. There were no peasants outside. The place looked completely locked down, reinforced against the coming storm.

The monk nodded. “Men, women, and children. All seeking shelter from the Mongols, and the samurai. They fear that Lord Oga will send men to raze the north for supporting The Ghost.” He gestured her forward. “And they say that The Ghost sends the storm to punish him. But enough, let’s go inside. Get warm by the fire, both of you.”

Yuna nodded back and followed him in, holding Kabu tightly to her, blocking his face from an incoming gust of wind. The boy blinked, his large eyes watering with involuntary tears from the cold.

“Thank you, Norio.” She followed him to the temple door, and he opened it for her, letting her and the boy slip past. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I didn’t expect to return,” Norio replied softly. “But Lord Sakai… he convinced me to stay, to help rebuild the temple and protect our people. So, I decided I would raise the orphaned children in its service and protect the people of Sago. Replace the warrior monks that were lost to the Mongols.”

“That’s a large responsibility,” Yuna said as she walked into the temple and saw pallets spread from one end of it to the other. The temple was as full of people as a village market, villagers and even some livestock. Yuna saw cages of chickens and crickets, a man sleeping against the side of a resting ox that chewed its cud in the corner. Rings of people crowded the temple braziers, desperate for warmth. A small group of children was sitting meditation in the corner—the youngest looked only a few years older than Kabu, the oldest was a teenager. 

“If I don’t raise them here, the samurai will take them into service,” Norio said, following Yuna’s gaze to them. “They will die by the sword. Too many of our people have already.”

Yuna felt a flash of anger at the samurai as she looked at the pack of orphans and the mob of refugees. _Too many have died who didn’t have to. And for what? Honor? What do these people care for honor? They only want fire and food in their belly._

Norio barred the temple door behind her, the crossbar coming down with a loud _thunk._ Norio caught her watching him as he did it. “I’m not taking any chances,” he said, his tone slightly bitter.

“Better not to,” Yuna said, thinking of the decimation she saw as she passed on the road through Kamiagata. “The Khan is dead, but there are plenty of Mongols around.” She turned back to look at the interior of the temple. “Norio… where did all of these people come from?” she whispered. A few of them watched her with a combination of apprehension and fear.

“They are the people of Sago. Their villages are gone. Burned by the Mongols.” All his hatred of them seethed into the word. “They have showed up day after day. With the monks gone, there is food to go around. For now.”

 _There’s so many of them._ Yuna felt a chill pass over her. _So many dead, but so many more still with no homes now, and winter coming. These people need a real shelter. They can’t stay here._

“How many fighters among them?” Yuna asked as she laid Kabu on the temple floor and unwrapped him again, letting him stretch his legs. He didn’t wander off at first, only goggled up at Norio with awed wonder. _I need to wash his clothes,_ Yuna thought. _And he needs food._ She kicked herself again for not scavenging the dead woman’s house for baby clothes. She had been too focused on escaping with their lives. And she couldn’t make herself go in and look at the dead woman’s decapitated corpse again.

Norio shook his head. “A few hunters. Three or four. No warriors. There are fisherfolk too, from the coast near Kawachi. They can’t fight, but…” He shrugged. “They can provide food. No one has starved.” _Yet,_ his tone said. 

“You can’t protect all of these people alone, Norio. Not with a few bows.”

“What choice do we have?” he asked her, his brow furrowed. “You can’t take all of these people to Jogaku. Jogaku won’t even be good for the people already there with winter coming. Without shelter, these people need to go to Toyotama.”

 _These people should be sheltering at Castle Shimura,_ Yuna thought. _That’s what you mean to say. Under the protection of their lord._

“There are still some villages left standing,” Yuna said. “Kawachi and White Falls still stand. So does Port Izumi Most of the disgraced samurai sons from Yarikawa are up north. If these people went north to them, they would be under the protection of the Ghost.”

“Come, sit with me.” Norio led her to sit alongside the wall of the temple, between two pallets. Yuna said cross-legged beside him, resting her back against the interior wall of the pagoda.

“Where _is_ Lord Sakai?” he asked.

Yuna scowled. “He’s at Jogaku Temple. He’s been badly wounded,” she answered, keeping her voice low so that there was less chance they would be overheard by the refugees nearby. “I’ve come south to see whether you’ve had samurai pass through here.” She glanced around to see where Kabu went and saw he had wandered over to the other children. One of them, a girl of around eight, had broken her meditation to play peekaboo with him. She felt a tension ease off her when she saw him safe. 

“Wounded?” Norio said, worried. He frowned down at her. “How?”

“Dueling the jito,” Yuna whispered. “Lord Shimura was killed.”

Norio hissed in a breath.

“You hadn’t heard?”

The monk shook his head. “The only people who have come to stay at the temple have been local. No one has mentioned it. They’re more worried for their own lives.” He was silent a moment, then said, “No wonder you were asking about the samurai. You’re expecting them to come for Lord Sakai.”

“Yes,” Yuna said, looking up at Norio with a serious expression. “So, you’ve seen nothing.”

“No,” Norio said, searching her face. “Not yet. Yuna, what happened to your face?” he asked, examining her in the firelight. “And your neck?” 

She brought her fingertips up to her cheek, feeling the broken skin and dried blood there. She’d forgotten about the Mongol’s slap, the gauntlet tearing a gash across her cheekbone. She couldn’t see her neck, but she could imagine the ring of bruises there from the Mongol’s clenched, heavy fingers.

“Mongols,” she said. “Same ones that killed the boy’s family, I think.”

Norio shook his head. “You have to be more careful. Lord Sakai—”

Yuna scowled at him. “I’m as careful as I _can_ be. Not all of us can hide in a temple while the Mongols burn the countryside.” She sighed at the slightly taken back expression on Norio’s face. “I’m… I’m sorry, Norio. I’m tired. I rode through the night.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I understand. You and the child should rest. I’m sure we can find some clean clothes for you both. You, uh… have blood on your yukata.”

Yuna looked down at the front of her clothes for the first since she arrived. They were splattered with crimson in the brazier light. The armor had only covered part of her clothing, but the last men had bled a lot, soaking the Ghost armor until it reeked of cut copper in her saddlebag.

“Yes, fresh clothes would be good,” Yuna said. “I brought some, but the boy has nothing.”

“There are others his age here, one of the women may have something.”

Yuna walked over to where Kabu was playing with the other children on the floor and picked him up. He grabbed a hank of her hair and yanked it enthusiastically with a crow, causing her to grimace and unwind his fingers from her head. “Ouch, no Kabu.”

Norio was speaking to some of the peasant women, and motioned Yuna over to him. A middle-aged woman stood before him, and she bowed to Yuna. “I am going to leave you with this woman for a few moments, Yuna,” Norio said. “I need to check on a few people.” He moved away from her to talk with a group of men on the other side of the temple.

Yuna turned back to the woman. “My lady, I am Aina. Norio says that you need some clean clothes for your boy? I have some to spare. And some food, if you need it.”

“Food we have already, and we’ll gladly share,” Yuna said. “But I’ll take your offer on the clothes. The boy’s are soiled.”

The woman brought Yuna a fresh _jinbei_ from her pack, and Yuna stripped Kabu out of his old one, stained with earth and blood and urine. Aina made a funny face at the boy and he laughed at her before wriggling out of Yuna’s arms and waddling off.

“He’s very cute,” she said to Yuna as they watched him. “Where is his father?”

Yuna shook her head, but the image of Jin’s face flashed in her mind. _What will he think of the boy?_ She’d never even seen Jin around a child. “He’s not mine. I found him.”

“Oh, the poor thing,” Aina said. Her voice grew lower. “The Mongols killed my Tomo when they took us prisoner. They did not want a child that young for a slave. You can keep the clothes.”

Yuna felt cold at the soft, resigned tone of the woman’s voice. “I’m so sorry.”

The peasant woman shook her head and didn’t answer for a few moments. Yuna could see that the older woman was struggling with tears, did not trust herself to speak.

Finally, she lifted her gaze and gave Yuna a wan smile through glistening eyes. “At least his clothes will do some good.” The woman turned away from Yuna and went through her things again, bringing up a bamboo cradleboard and some cloth strapping. “Here. This should help you carry him on horseback. We don’t… we don’t need it anymore.”

“Thank you, Aina.” Yuna took it. “You’ll have to show me how to put him in it, once he’s had a little time to run around. I had him wrapped up like a dumpling all the way from Mine.”

The peasant woman blinked away her tears, watching the little boy as he followed some of the older children around like a duckling.   
  
“Norio said you were from Jogaku. You know The Ghost.”

Yuna looked up from Kabu to gaze at the woman. She gave a small nod.

“Tell him thank you,” Aina said. “For saving our lives.”

Yuna turned back to watch Kabu run around in a dead boy’s clothes.

 _Not all of them,_ she thought.

**

As the morning wore on, the storm outside became fierce, causing the pagoda to creak in the wind. The temple had become smoky from the braziers, and the stranded villagers milled like nervous cattle.

Yuna was cutting lotus root for food that Aina was preparing with the other women for a midday meal when there was a loud pounding on the temple door that had her on her feet before she realized that she had even moved, her hand on the hilt of her dagger, her teeth bared in an unconscious snarl.

She heard a gasp and glanced at her feet. Aina was still sitting cross-legged over the food they had been preparing, staring up at Yuna’s hand on her blade.

 _Here they are,_ she thought, steeling herself.

_“Norio! Open up, Norio!”_

Norio hurried through the crowded temple, shooting a look over at Yuna where she was poised to strike. “I know that voice,” he said.

The monk moved to the door and unbarred it, throwing it open. A man in ragged clothing slid through the temple doors, his clothes dusted with snow. Yuna relaxed slightly, but did not take her hand off her dagger.

“I saw a samurai on the road,” the man told Norio.

Yuna felt her heart leap into her throat.

_A samurai. Not samurai._

_…Jin?_

She surged forward towards him. “Only one? Did he strike a banner?”

The peasant shrugged, shrinking back from her as he saw her hand on the hilt of her weapon. She saw him looking and reluctantly pulled her hand away, letting it drop at her side. “I don’t know. It was a flower, I think? I couldn’t see him that closely. I only know it was a samurai from the armor. It was made of gold. Not even Kazumasa had a golden suit of armor.”

 _Golden armor._ Yuna frowned. “What was he doing?”

“Walking on the road, on horse,” the peasant man said. “There were people with him. They were all headed this way.” 

“I thought you said he was _alone.”_ Yuna tried to keep the frustration out of her voice and didn’t quite manage it. The man flinched back from her.

“They were not samurai. I saw women. He looked like he was just talking to them.”

_They only sent one?_

Yuna couldn’t decide whether to be troubled or insulted on Jin’s behalf. _A hundred samurai from the mainland and they think they can kill The Ghost with only one?_

But then she remembered Jin singlehandedly carving his way through the approach to Castle Kaneda and leaving nothing but death in his wake, poisoning the entire regiment of Mongols at Castle Shimura in open defiance of his uncle.

She decided that it was probably unwise to underestimate the amount of damage that a single samurai could do under the right circumstances.

 _One man can do plenty._ She felt her breath coming faster. “Norio.” He looked over at her, an expression of concern on his face.

“When the samurai comes, you don’t know me. None of these people can know who I am.” She looked into his eyes. “He may recognize me.”

“How could he know you?” Norio asked.

“There were samurai at Castle Shimura. I was there with Jin,” Yuna replied. “I don’t know who this golden samurai is, but he may know me.”

“We could bar the temple to him,” Norio said, but there was a note of hesitation in his voice, as if he was reluctant to bar the temple to anyone.

Yuna shook her head. “No. Don’t give the samurai a reason to come here. They’ll be headed up here soon enough on their own. No rebellions, no uprisings. We have to keep them quiet.” _At least until Jin is healed._ “They’ll already be looking for a reason to fight with Lord Shimura dead. The death of Shimura’s brothers and father led to the burning of Yarikawa. Right now, they still need our good graces to rule.”

“It’s dangerous to let him in,” Norio said quietly. “The people of Tsushima know I fought alongside the Ghost. He may know too.”

“Then we’ll kill him,” Yuna said.

Norio looked at her as if she had suggested burning the temple down. “Kill him? Yuna, we can’t just kill him.”

_We can, and we will._


	12. Sutōkā (Stalking)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuna and Norio meet the swordsman of Nara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for continuing to read this along with me guys! Your comments and kudos are appreciated more than you know! <3 Sorry again for any one or two little typos, I usually catch them and edit them out like ten minutes after I post so if they bug the shit out of you just wait a few hours after the update and they should be gone. 
> 
> This chapter brought to you by "Hidden Machinations" by Eternal Eclipse: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VfSvMknKbZI
> 
> Me: Hey guys I need to actually write some magazine articles for a few days instead of fanfiction  
> Also me: *stays up writing fanfiction all night AND magazine articles because plot won't leave me alone*
> 
> As usual, drop me your prompts or fic requests in the comments if you want, I'm compiling a list for one-shots and new works. :D If you've left me a comment you for-real deserve a request fic and I'll do the best I can to fill it if I'm able to.
> 
> This chapter was also inspired by this meme right here: https://persephinae.tumblr.com/post/625988734502961153/jin-defeats-the-khan-by-betraying-the-samurai

Yuna stood on the porch of Cedar temple’s pagoda and watched the samurai come.

She could see him from a long way off across the lake in front of the temple, walking along the road in the dappled sunlight. He seemed engrossed on telling a story to the people walking beside him, and Yuna could see his arms moving even from afar. He glittered. She could see a white _sashimono_ flag attached to the back of his armor, but he was too far for her to tell the _mon._

Yuna, who had lived her entire life barely having enough food to keep soul and body together, hated the golden armor on sight. It _did_ remind her of Kazumasa and the Sakai armor, though the lacquer on the Sakai armor was the color of a tree blackened by a lightning strike. Not gold.

 _One samurai. One peacock._ She watched him come, eyes narrowed.

She had told Norio to stay in the temple and hold Kabu for her. _Spread the word to these people. No one knows anything about the Ghost. Make them like stones, Norio._

When the samurai and the peasants alongside him got closer, she saw the samurai spot her on the temple’s porch, the flash as he lifted one gauntleted hand to shield his eyes, staring. He leaned down to the people for a moment, halting them, then rode up on her at full speed, his horse’s head tossing. Yuna could easily imagine him charging at her in battle in full cry, cutting her down like a bamboo stand.

Instead he pulled up short, the stout horse’s hooves dancing in the snow at the foot of the pagoda’s porch. It flattened its ears against its head, stomping. In the blustering storm winds, the samurai’s flag flapped at his back.

Now that he was closer, she could see the symbol on his _sashimono_ —a black cherry blossom on white background. She didn’t recognize the _mon._

_Mainlander. From around Kyoto, maybe. Would explain that ridiculous armor._

Ridiculous maybe, but Yuna noted with growing unease that it was thick and strong—she was the sister of a blacksmith, she knew real craftsmanship when she saw it. Underneath the intricate scrolled gold and pearl inlays, there was deadly, blade-stopping steel. She didn’t even want to think about how much the armor had cost. She didn’t want to see what the sword that matched it looked like.

The first thing that Yuna noticed was that the samurai was young, much younger than Jin. His armor was loose. He was tall and broad through the shoulders in the ornate samurai armor he wore, and his golden antlers looked as sharp as knives. But he was beardless like a boy, with only a dark shadow where a beard should be. He wore a golden half-mask that enclosed his face on either side, and oddly pale amber eyes stared at her above the cheekguards. 

He looked at her with a cool, stoic expression.

“Is this Cedar Temple?”  
  
“Yes, my lord,” Yuna said, bowing low. She kept her face servile and trusting, smiling at him. “We welcome you.”

“I am Hayato Mori.” He gestured to the people waiting patiently down the road, watching them as they began to walk towards the pagoda. “These people need aid.”

“Then they’ll find it here,” Yuna said, smiling at him even though the sight of him made her afraid for Jin. Not just because she questioned Jin’s ability to beat the man in a fight in his current state, but also because… they had sent only one. Not an army. A messenger.

 _They think they can talk him into surrendering._ And for Yuna, the most frightening thing about that was she had no idea how Jin would react to the idea of surrendering to the judgment of the samurai. He had escaped when Kenji came for him, but would he have ever attempted to escape on his own? Yuna thought not.

What pretty lies would they tell him, to convince him to choose honor over life?

She kept her dark thoughts off her face completely, not letting a trace of her disdain for the samurai before her show. At the Mamushi farm, she had gotten used to thinking one thing and saying or doing another, and she used the talent now.

“And what about you, my lord?” Yuna asked, smiling up at him on his horse. She smiled up at him like she imagined women had been fawning at him since became old enough and experienced enough to ride with the mounted samurai as a man. “Do you need aid?”

“I need answers.”

He did not smile back at her. Instead he looked at her with a queer sort of waiting patience. His eyes flickered behind her, and she realized he was looking at the quiver of arrows on her back.

_This one may not be as stupid as he looks._

She looked at the armor, and then at the ivory sheath at the samurai’s side, a light pink tassel trailing from the hilt. There was almost no part of the samurai’s body that was bare. _Fighting him will be like fighting a dragon,_ she thought. _No soft spots._

_I have to get him out of the armor. Get his guard down. And then I can slit his throat._

“Come, warm yourself,” Yuna said. “All of you.”

The samurai got down from his horse, not bothering to tie it up. The samurai horse walked off, shoveling in the snow with its nose to find whatever sparse remains of grass lay underneath. When the samurai walked up to her, Yuna had to crane up to look at him. His face was stern, but not cruel. She saw him staring at her, eyes narrowing slightly, and couldn’t realize what he was looking at until she remembered the cut on her cheek and the bruises at her neck.

“Who _are_ you?” he asked as they waited for the peasants walking up the road to catch up. 

“Ichi,” she said immediately. “A villager from Jogaku prefecture, to the north. Do you know it, my lord?”

Yuna thought she saw a cold look pass over the samurai’s face like a shadow, but it was hard to tell with the half-mask and the actual shadows from his helmet.

“I will.”

She waited on the samurai to elaborate, but he said nothing more. The man, woman, and girl who had been walking alongside him came up to them. Yuna noticed that the daughter looked up at Hayato Mori like he was a prince, her face slack with awe and adoration. Yuna resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

 _I hope I have never looked at a man like that where other people could see it._

“Welcome to Cedar Temple,” Yuna said to them.

The man bowed. “Thank you. I am Hiroku. This is my wife Himari and my daughter Kaede. The Mongols burned our home, and most of the others. We were afraid to return. After the Ghost saved us, we didn’t know where else to go. We heard the warrior monks were here.”

 _One of them,_ Yuna thought.

Yuna watched the samurai’s face carefully when the peasant man mentioned Jin. His face was unreadable, as much a mask as the mask he wore. Instead of looking at the man speaking, Yuna found the samurai watching her back. There was no sign of the relaxed man she had seen sauntering up the road on horseback. He was as taut as a cat in the grass.

_He knows something._

Yuna strained her mind to see if she could remember seeing the man in the golden armor at Castle Shimura. There had been so many samurai, and she was so concerned with their stupid plan she hadn’t paid them any attention individually. But she thought she would remember the golden armor, as flamboyant as it was.

He wasn’t one of the ones who had chased her—she knew she would have recognized the armor if she had run for her life from the man wearing it. But the look he was giving her—

“You’re safe now,” Yuna said, turning back towards the pagoda and walking towards the temple doors so that the samurai couldn’t see how much he had unnerved her.

“Thanks to Lord Mori,” Himari said, her voice soft and shy. “He guarded us on the road to protect us from the Mongols.”

“Hm. Have you ever fought Mongols, Lord Mori?” Yuna knocked on the temple door and waited for the sound of the crossbar being raised.

“I’ve seen their bodies all across the island,” Hayato said. Yuna thought she could detect a hint of heat in his voice. “They die like any man.”

 _I’ll take that as a no._ Yuna felt better already at her chances of killing Hayato Mori. She had killed Mongols. Many.

“Those weren’t killed by just any man, my lord,” Yuna replied as the crossbar was lifted and she pulled the temple door open, turning back to look the samurai in the face. “Those were killed by the Ghost.”

He stared Yuna down. “The Ghost is a children’s story. Lord Sakai is just a man. He can die like any man. Unless he bows to the will of the shogunate, he _will_ die like any man.”

Hayato Mori started to walk past her, then paused, cutting his eyes sideways at her.

“There’s blood on your shirt.”

Before Yuna could answer him, he glided into the temple, followed by the peasant family in his wake. Yuna looked at the war horse decked in armor and grazing in the snow, her fingers going down to caress the hilt of her dagger like a promise, then followed them in. 

**

As soon as Hayato saw the large monk in charge of Cedar Temple, he froze, staring at the man across the pagoda. After a few seconds he remembered himself and bowed slightly, stiff and formal. Most of the peasants cringed away from him, bowing and hiding their faces in deference. A few simply looked on, wary and watchful.

“You are Norio,” Hayato said. “The warrior monk. I am Hayato Mori of Nara, the messenger of Lord Oga. The acting jito of Tsushima.”

 _Oga is_ not _the jito of Tsushima,_ Yuna thought, narrowing her eyes at the samurai. _But don’t worry. You’ll never get the chance to meet him._

“Yes, my lord,” Norio replied, bowing in return. Yuna saw that he had grabbed his _naginata_. All around them dozens of eyes silently watched the samurai—all small talk trickled and died.

“You fight with the Ghost.” Hayato’s voice was accusing. The samurai’s eyes scanned the crowd of villagers, seeking out the disgraced lord’s face.

“I fight to protect the people of Sago,” Norio said. “The Ghost is a legend. But if you accuse me of friendship with Lord Sakai? I claim it.” Norio stood tall, lifting his chin as he gazed steadily at the samurai. “I am proud to be his friend.”

 _Norio, don’t._ Yuna’s eyes went back and forth between the monk and the samurai, looking the gauge his reaction. She slipped her fingers back down to the dagger at her side, the pads of her fingers stroking the hilt, not grabbing it but ready to do it. Ready to pull her hand away if Hayato glanced in her direction. 

The young samurai didn’t—he glowered at Norio. “Lord Sakai is a _man._ And a murderer. And an escaped prisoner. Not a legend. You’re claiming friendship with a bandit.”

 _“Lord Sakai is no bandit!”_ a young voice cried out from the back of the pagoda, and an assenting murmur swept through the temple. Hayato narrowed his eyes, looking around sharply to see who had contradicted him, but all that looked back at him was a sea of resentful dark eyes. The oxen lowed and the caged crickets seemed to sing loudly.

No one spoke.

 _I could kill him now,_ Yuna realized, her eyes slipping from Hayato to the mob of peasants. The expressions she saw on their faces ranged from fear to indignation and anger. _If I attacked him, no one would stop me. They would watch him die._  
  
She glanced down at Kabu at her feet. He grasped her pants leg, staring up at the samurai in the golden armor, eyes following the dance of reflections from his armor on the time-polished cedar floor planks. It made Yuna remember the other children, watching from the outskirts of the mob.

 _They have seen so much death already. And the armor… killing him will be impossible without endangering these people. At least with a dagger. He’s young. He’ll panic, draw his sword. These people are too close._ She thought of the purple wolfsbane growing wild out in the snow.

Hayato looked around at the temple full of peasants. “Is there anyone here who knows how to find the Ghost? I know that he relies on the help of the people. There are people here who have seen him.” Hayato seemed to falter slightly at the chill in the room, but persevered. “People he has helped. People who have helped him.”

There was dead silence in the temple.

“No one will be punished for helping to bring Lord Sakai to justice now, no matter your involvement with him before this moment,” Hayato continued, his voice calm and even. “Only rewarded.” But Yuna thought she could see a glimpse of fear flash in his strange tea-colored eyes before falling away behind the mask again. The people of Sago stared at the mainlander with suspicion.

There was no sound but the trill of crickets and crackling braziers. Hayato turned around to look at the room, the firelight gleaming off his antlered helmet. He seemed to crumple.

“We are here to protect you,” Hayato said, his voice quiet in the stillness. “I know you have all lost many things, and people you love. But the samurai are here to restore order. Justice.”

Watching him, Yuna found herself slightly in awe. _He believes it. He really does._ She found herself thinking of Jin and wishing for him. Jin would know what to do. Yuna felt herself briefly torn. This stupid boy wasn’t one of the Mongols. He was just another samurai like Jin.

 _Without honor? I will not break my code._ She heard Jin’s voice in her mind.

She saw that same stubborn, dead-set look in Hayato Mori’s eyes that she saw in Jin’s eyes when she told him that there was no way they could go on cutting their way through Kaneda Castle one Mongol at a time. Jin had seemed a demon to her then, all deadly slashing steel and silent rage, cutting the Mongols down like it was a dance. It was a dance that she saw Hayato would gladly dance, too.

_Stay far away from here, Jin. He really means it. He means to kill you._

“No person here would speak against the Ghost,” Yuna said as she reached down to pick up Kabu, resting the boy on her hip as she looked into the samurai’s face. The rest of the villagers turned to look at the sound of her voice. “They know he is more than a man. And his vengeance is terrible.”

Hayato let out a soft, bitter laugh. “See? You should not fear your own lords on Tsushima.” He turned away from Yuna and addressed the entire temple of villagers, holding his hands out in disbelief. “Poison? Murder in the shadows? This is your legend?”

He shook his head. “Tell me where to find Lord Sakai, Norio,” he said, turning back to gaze at the monk. His voice was hard with resolve. “You are responsible for protecting these people. Do not allow them to commit treason.”

“Do not threaten us,” Norio said, his voice soft and warning.

“I’m here to stop him.” Hayato seemed to draw himself up, becoming taller in the armor as he looked up at the monk. “With or without your help, I will find him.”

“You and what army?” Yuna asked.

“The one that sent me.” Hayato turned to look at her, his expression cold. “The one I will bring back to help me look if I cannot find him to pass him the message of the shogunate myself.”

“And what message is that?”

“Surrender or die.” Hayato’s words rang out in the quiet temple.

“You think you can kill the Ghost?” Yuna said, feeling Kabu’s fingertips brushing against her jaw as she stared the samurai down. She tried to keep her tone casual. Curious, even.

“Yes.”

Yuna swallowed, holding Kabu closer to her reflexively. _He means it._ Her eyes flickered to Norio, and he caught her gaze. He raised his eyebrows at her slightly and shook his head, a gesture almost too subtle to catch. _No, Yuna. Don’t do it._

“I can take you to him,” Yuna said. “I already need to return home to Jogaku with my child. I could use your protection on my way to our village, to keep us safe. You say you are here to protect us? Prove it, my lord. In exchange, I will take you to the Ghost. Who knows? Maybe he’ll find you. He seems to meet his enemies when they least expect it.”

“Yes, that’s how back-stabbing and bandit ambushes work. You know the Ghost?” Hayato asked, as if he had suspected her of it all along.

“I know how to find him.” Yuna stared Hayato down. “Not hard to find an army. I think you will find more than a bandit camp awaiting you in Jogaku, Lord Mori.”

Yuna saw Norio shaking his head at her again out of the corner of her eye.

_I must, Norio. I have to draw him into the open, get his guard down._

Hayato gave her a hard, assessing look. She held her free hand out that wasn’t holding Kabu up against her hip. “I don’t see anyone else volunteering to help you, my lord.”

Hayato cast a resentful look around the temple and then looked back at Yuna. “I suppose not,” he replied, his voice flat.

“Then let us finish preparing the mid-day meal, Lord Mori, and we’ll go,” Yuna said. “Better to go north on a full stomach. The road is cold. Rest by the fire.” _Get warm while you can._

“I know. I was just on it,” Hayato said, but sounded exhausted when he did. “I have ridden through the night.”

 _That makes two of us,_ Yuna thought, resisting the urge to exhale a tired sigh of her own. Even Kabu seemed to be tiring, resting his chin on her shoulder and blinking sleepily. _But the sooner I can get you away from here, the sooner you die._

“All the more reason to rest while you can, my lord,” Yuna replied, trying to keep disdain out of her voice. “You’ll need your strength against the Ghost. I will bring you porridge when it’s ready.”

Hayato nodded, and moved to lean against the temple wall, close to a corner brazier. He sat against it, and the villagers gave him a wide berth except for Hiroku, who had moved to sit next to the samurai and was talking with him quietly.

After a few minutes, when the other Sago villagers realized that the samurai was not going to cut them all down, they went back to what they were doing before he arrived.

Yuna laid Kabu down for a nap and the little boy curled up under her blanket immediately, his thumb coming to his mouth to suck almost as soon as his eyes closed and his head hit the tatami mats that had been laid down for the refugees to rest on. Within moments of her stroking his head, he was passed out.

She met Norio where he stood in the far corner of the temple, as far from Hayato Mori as he could get. He had leaned the _naginata_ in the corner, and the sharp steep tip gleamed in the firelight. He stood near one of the small cooking fires that had been established in the temple, built on top of a rock platform to protect the temple floors. Yuna flashed a look at the samurai before leaning down to stir the pot bubbling over it.

“Are you crazy Yuna?” Norio whispered, keeping his voice almost too low for her to hear.

“Like a fox,” she whispered back, giving him a dark look.

“You can’t do this.”

“I’m not taking him to Jin,” Yuna said, under her breath, looking up briefly to make sure the samurai wasn’t watching her anymore. He had turned away, explaining something to Hiroku by pointing to his palm. “I’m not an idiot, Norio. I just need to get him away from these people.” She looked back at Norio. “Close enough for a blade.”

Norio shook his head. “Jin wouldn’t want it.”

“Jin isn’t here.” _Thank the gods,_ Yuna added silently. She grabbed a bowl from the small stack near the cookfire and ladled some steaming _okayu_ into it, taking a worn wooden spoon. She looked at Norio again. “Don’t interfere, Norio.”

“You can’t mean to take the boy,” Norio said. “Yuna… you’re putting him in danger.”

“I have to take him. I can’t leave him behind. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“I don’t,” Norio whispered, frustrated. “You should have told the samurai nothing. I thought that was the plan.”

“I am _not_ going to let him drag an army down on these people looking for Jin. They’ve been through enough.” She turned away from Norio without awaiting an answer, carrying the bowl of porridge back across the temple where Jin’s executioner waited.

Hiroku looked up at her as she walked up. Hayato Mori’s head was slumped forward, his breathing soft and deep. Someone’s farm dog had approached him and lay half in and half out of his lap, the puppy’s head resting on his chainmailed thigh. One gauntleted hand rested on the dog’s head. 

Hayato Mori was fast asleep.

“We are all tired,” Hiroku said softly to Yuna with an apologetic tone, looking up at her. “The roads are hard in Sago, my lady. You should rest too, while you can, if you mean to travel with him.”

“Yes,” she said, handing the bowl of porridge meant for the samurai to the peasant man instead. Yuna looked at Hayato. He looked even younger when he was asleep, his head lolled to the side. He had even less beard than Jin had when Yuna first met him. She could see Hayato’s neck exposed, the heart blood thrumming right below the tanned skin there.

What would Norio do if she took her dagger and slammed it to the hilt in the samurai’s throat now, emptied his lifeblood all over the temple floor while he kicked and gasped? She looked over at the monk. Norio watched her, his face solemn and pale.

“He has been good to us, my lady,” Hiroku said, drawing her eyes back to him. Yuna thought she could read a silent plea in the man’s face: _Please. Don’t hurt him._

“It’s because he wants something from you,” Yuna whispered, straightening back up. _He doesn’t give a damn about you. He just cares about his honor. Just like the rest of them._

“No, you’re wrong,” Hiroku said, keeping his voice quiet so as not to wake the samurai sleeping next to him. “I told him what he wanted to know. He could have gone on to Jogaku, but he brought me and my family here.” He looked over at where his wife and daughter were lying down a few feet away, the mother curled around the daughter like an otter. “He could have left us, but he didn’t.”

 _Then he has other reasons._ But she didn’t want to argue with the man. She nodded a little at him, then walked away to where Kabu was sleeping. She decided to lay down next to him and take rest while she could. Once she was on the road, she wouldn’t be able to close her eyes on the samurai.

It would be down to her to wait for him to turn his back on her.

_As soon as we’re clear of here, when I get him out in the wilds. Wait for him to sleep again._

Yuna curled around Kabu’s back on the mat, cradling her head on her arm. The temple stank of unwashed bodies pressed together and smoke and livestock and cookfires, but at least it was warm. She wrapped her arm around the little boy and closed her eyes, feeling him snuggle in closer to her body.

She closed her eyes, meaning only to rest them and doze. But hours of sitting over Jin’s sick bed and hours more of fighting and riding caught up with her, and she drifted away. 


	13. Yūrei (Haunted)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin and Kenji trail Yuna into Sago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your lovely comments guys! <3 As usual if you have any ideas for prompts, ships, or fic requests, feel free to drop them and I'll see if I get inspired by anything. I'm happy to write something specific if it's wanted. :) 
> 
> This chapter brought to you by "Without You" by Ursine and Annaca: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HyO1q52WLzw
> 
> _If it's gonna get violent tonight  
>  Tell me you're gonna be alright  
> You don't have to be the brave one every time  
> I know you wanna make it right_

“So… are you in love with Yuna?”

Jin had just settled Kaze into a brisk walk down the jito’s road towards Sago and had started to meditate, working himself into a light doze, when Kenji’s voice piped up beside his horse. He wanted to ride hard, but there was a greater chance of being spotted or heard if they hurried. The storm was also getting worse, and Jin wanted to save Kaze’s strength. The thin stallion was still not as strong or as fast as a samurai’s horse, though he had the enthusiasm for the task.

The sake seller had been uncharacteristically quiet for an hour or so after they left Jogaku. It made Jin feel guilty about being angry at him, which just made him feel even angrier at Yuna. The further they got from Jogaku, the worse the weather became, and the colder it got, the more Jin seethed. And the more he seethed, the more guilty he felt about it.

Jin knew meditation was the best balm for surging emotions—his uncle had commanded him to do it regularly as a child, battling his moody nature—and Jin tried his best. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of all the tortured dead women he had seen strewn across the island, only with Yuna’s face superimposed over theirs.

 _Stop it. She’ll be fine. She was fine on her own before she met you, and she’s dangerous on her own,_ he told himself. _She’s not a fool. She wouldn’t have left if she didn’t think she could handle it._

It didn’t stop worry from gnawing at his heart.

It didn’t help that the last thing he remembered before waking up to find Yuna gone was her snug against his side from hip to shoulder, warming her cold feet against his calves, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. Jin tried to remember a time when he had felt warmer and safer than that, in spite of his hurts, and couldn’t come up with anything. Every recent memory he had was tainted with discomfort—things were cold, windy, exhausting, painful.

But being under that blanket with Yuna, listening to the storm howl its empty bluffs around the eaves of the temple…that was the closest thing he had felt to peace in a long time.

And now it was gone.

_We shouldn’t even be out here._

Jin closed his eyes. The antlered helmet on his head felt heavy, and he longed to take it off. But he couldn’t quite manage the motivation to reach up and take it off his head. Anything but gritting his teeth and riding forward into the blustering snow felt like it wasn’t worth the effort it would take to do it. The swelling in his face had gone down a little from the cold, but his eye was still almost swollen shut where the shield had struck him.

“Kenji, this is probably not the best time to tease me.”

Kenji looked at him, beating his own upper arms to try and keep the blood moving in them. He blew into his cupped hands before he said, “I’m not teasing, my lord. It’s just that this feels like something out of a ballad, that’s all. Chasing down your lost lady after barely escaping with your life, fleeing certain death with the help of a certain daring rogue who shall remain nameless.”

“You are silent for an hour and this is what you decide to say after all that time?”

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

“It does not feel like a ballad to me.” Jin said grimly. He tried to remind himself to be patient with Kenji. _He’s just trying to cheer me, in his way._ Jin just didn’t feel like he would be cheerful again. Ever since his uncle died, everything felt like it just kept getting harder. He thought that killing the Khan would solve everything, but it just became more complicated.

“That’s because you aren’t sitting around a fire drinking sake and listening to someone sing it to you. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“What business is it of yours?” Jin answered, a little more brusquely than he intended.

“I’ve known Yuna a lot longer than you have,” Kenji replied, scowling slightly. “Don’t you think I care about whether she’s happy or not? That’s what business it is of mine. I thought we were friends, Lord Sakai. Whether you are happy is important to me too.”

Jin sighed. “You are. My friend. What does me loving her have to do with her being happy or not?” He took a deep breath, feeling that he suddenly couldn’t get enough air, and it hitched slightly when a sharp pain cut through him from his side every time he expanded his chest too far. He tried to keep his breaths even and shallow. “It’s… well, it’s complicated, Kenji. You don’t understand because you and Yuna come from the same walk in life.”

“Well you’ve been stripped of your estates, so technically you _are_ walking our life now, Lord Sakai. If you’re worried that you’ll be judged for loving a peasant woman, I’m not sure it matters all that much now. You’re a peasant now yourself.”

 _It doesn’t matter because I’m probably not going to be alive that much longer,_ Jin thought, but was kind enough not to say.

“It doesn’t matter whether I love her or not, she doesn’t love me.”

Kenji made a scoffing sound of disbelief.

“You aren’t as smart as they say you are if you think that.”

“What has she told you?”

“That she will follow you to the ends of the earth, would die for you, and longs to bear you sons.”

Jin shot a glance over at him, furrowing his brow. Kenji shrugged. “Not in so many words, of course, but I read between the lines.”

Jin turned back away from the sake seller, towards the road. His nagging guilt returned—how could he have gotten Yuna so involved in his troubles? She had saved his life, and it brought her nothing but grief. Now her life was in danger, and it was all his fault. She wasn’t even the one they really wanted.

_She deserves better. Not an exile and a murderer and a criminal. She just doesn’t know any better that she deserves it._

“Yes, if course I love her. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be in a snowstorm trying to bring her home.” 

“Well if she loves you and you love her back, I’m sure that would make her happy,” Kenji replied. “I don’t have a woman, but I feel that is the theory.”

Jin decided to ignore Kenji’s current theories on the matters of women. He closed his eyes. His tongue felt swollen in his mouth, his throat on fire. “Do you have water, Kenji?”

Kenji stopped his chatter for a second and withdrew a gourd of water from the provisions he had brought along, handing it across from his horse to Jin’s outstretched hand. Jin drank from the gourd deeply, then cupped some of the water and splashed it on his face. The instant chill he felt on his forehead and cheeks as the cold autumn wind whipped at the wetness revived him.

“Lord Sakai?”

Jin opened his eyes and looked over to find the sake seller watching him with worry. “I don’t think it’s good for us to continue to ride in this weather. We should find a place to hole up, boil up some of that willow tea from the monks.”

“No,” Jin said. “We’re already too far behind.” _There’s no telling where she is, what’s happened to her._ Jin was dismayed at the level of dread he felt. He had been separated from Yuna before during their time together over the previous weeks, but he had never felt this fear for her before. He stared back out across the snowy fields, peering across the gray landscape to watch for enemy movement.

“We’ll get even further behind if you die of a fever and I have to take the time to stop and build a funeral pyre in the snow and compose sad songs about your heroic death.”

Jin looked sharply over at Kenji, who shrugged again. “I’m just saying. You’re still not well. It’s a bad idea to push yourself when there’s danger all around. If you’re not a lovestruck fool, you can at least stop acting like one.”

Jin opened his mouth to answer and then snapped it closed. He felt his cheeks burning, but it wasn’t with fever this time. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Jin said in return, spurring Kaze on faster and forcing Kenji to have to urge his horse on. “Stop prattling and keep your eye out for bandits.”

“You’re the bandit jito according to the shogun. Theoretically, they should be on our side,” Kenji answered as he sped his horse.

“Someone should tell the bandits that.”

Suddenly, Jin heard a commotion down the road on a gust of wind, a thundering noise.

“Kenji, _off the road.”_ Before waiting for an answer, Jin quickly wheeled Kaze off the path and into the forest’s edge, relieved to hear Kenji following him immediately without question. They ducked into the treeline and dismounted, crouching in the brush. Jin bit back a pained groan as he came down hard on the frozen ground off his horse, fresh agony coursing through his wounds.

It seemed they had barely gotten out of the open field before a group of riders came up over the hill, headed north. It was Mongolians, more than Jin had seen in one place since he attacked Port Izumi. Jin quickly counted eleven riders dusted with snow, their horses battering down the jito’s road in a ragged band.

 _Too many,_ Jin thought, feeling the weakness of fever rush through him, and fighting grimly not to lean against Kaze’s side for support as they silently watched the marauders gallop down the path like they were outrunning a wildfire. Jin saw no generals or other leaders among them—these were all stragglers.

It felt like a century before the last rider had passed on, the sound of their hooves still echoing faintly in the distance. Fresh snow fell in a thick curtain between the woods and the road, making the whole world muffled and white.

Kenji let out the breath he had been holding in a long exhale.

“Thank you for not trying to fight them,” Kenji said. “For a moment, I was afraid you were.”

_For a moment, I was considering it._

“I wouldn’t put you in danger, Kenji.” As much as Jin wanted to fight the group of Mongolian outriders, eleven was too many to take on face to face. Not with Kenji to worry about too. He hated letting them ride on, but seven of them had almost killed him, would have if Daikoku hadn’t shown up by some grace of the _kami_.

Eleven was too many.

“If you had fought, I would have fought beside you.”

Jin thought of Taka’s dark, earnest eyes as Taka looked up at him at Koyosan: _I want to help._

He turned to Kenji and put a hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed it for emphasis, looking at him with a somber expression. Kenji flinched, shocked by his touch.

“Kenji, if you’re going to come with me, you have to swear an oath to me right now.”

The sake seller swallowed and nodded. His hat bobbed, causing some fresh snow to tumble off its edges.

“If there is a battle, you don’t help me unless I ask. You hide, or you run away. Let me handle it. Unless you hear me say, ‘Kenji, help me!’ I don’t want to see you anywhere near me in a fight. I’ll shout for you if I need you. Do you understand me? And if you see me fall, you run away as quick as you can.”

Kenji was silent.

“I’m serious, Kenji.”

“I know that.”

“Well?”

Kenji sighed. “…I swear, Lord Sakai.”

“Good. Let’s wait a moment to make sure that no more will pass.”

The two of them stood in the trees, watching snow falling in thick sheets. There was an echoing cry like a woman’s scream from the woods behind them and Kenji jumped a foot and a half with surprise, but it was only a herd of sika deer dashing by, moving so fast across the snow as they weaved through the tree-line that their feet barely seemed to touch the ground.

“I’ll tell her when we find her,” Jin said, his voice quiet in the stillness.

_I’ll tell her I love her. I’ll tell her I don’t want her to leave my side ever again._

Kenji glanced over at him from where he had been watching the deer flee. “That’s good.”

The sake seller nodded a little to himself, satisfied. 

**

They continued down the road as the storm worsened until they came to a massacred village. Only a few houses still stood at the far end of the village. The rest of the buildings in the village were smoldering ruins.

A tan, curly-tailed dog that was feeding on a disemboweled corpse looked up at their approach, hackles raised as it bayed out a terrified warning. When Jin drew his bow and aimed at it, the dog bolted away, tail tucked as it ran looking back at them over its shoulder.

“This was Taishu,” Kenji said. His voice sounded disbelieving.

 _Not anymore,_ Jin thought.

He felt his chest tighten as they walked slowly into the village through plumes of black, greasy smoke. They passed a row of dead, decaying samurai in narrow vertical cages, and Kenji seemed to turn white in the face.

“Why did they cage them like that?” he whispered to Lord Sakai, looking at the bloated, blackened faces sticking out of the tops of the boarded _cangues_.

“To strangle them,” Jin whispered back, not sure why they were whispering. There was no one left alive to hear them speak. Another wave of weakness passed over him suddenly and his vision swam.

He thought he heard a woman’s scream on the wind that shocked him out of his daze. Without looking over at Kenji, he put Kaze into a gallop and raced further into the village, Kaze’s hooves throwing up clouds of snow. 

_“Lord Sakai, wait!”_

_“Yuna!”_ Jin called, his head turning as he looked around the dead village, wheeling Kaze around in the snow as he tried to pinpoint the direction of the scream. _“Yuna!”_

Kenji caught up to him. “Lord Sakai, what are you doing?!”

Jin’s eyes raced feverishly as he searched the alleys between the remaining houses. “Didn’t you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That scream.”

Kenji shook his head but glanced around them nervously. “There’s no one left alive here to scream, Lord Sakai.” He looked harder into Jin’s pale, sweating face. “We need to shelter in one of these houses and build a fire.”

“We have to keep going.” Jin spotted a dead Mongolian lying in the snow and got down from Kaze, kneeling next to the man.

“Yuna can’t get that much farther ahead from us in this,” Kenji said. “Please, Lord Sakai.”

Jin snapped off a bamboo arrow shaft that was protruding from the frozen corpse’s throat, running his fingers over the fletching.

“She was here.” Jin felt lightheaded. _This is hers. Goat horn nock and sea eagle feathers._ “This is Yuna’s arrow.”

“How do you know?” Kenji said, getting off his horse and standing over Jin. “You and Yuna are not the only warriors on Tsushima who can kill a Mongol.”

“Because she made these.” He looked up at the sake seller. “She was here.” He stood and looked around until he saw the second Mongolian corpse around the corner of the house and walked over to it. Snow had fallen heavily over both corpses, but he saw the same handmade Japanese _ya_ sticking out of the second man’s throat.

 _They were chasing her,_ Jin thought, breaking into a run as he saw the third corpse further down the row behind the abandoned houses. There was no arrow in this one. He laid in a halo of blood, so much of It Jin had a hard time believing it all belonged to him.

_He caught her._

But her body wasn’t there. _She could have dragged herself into the woods. She could be wounded._ He searched the snow feverishly for a trace of where she had left the fight. But the blizzard had been falling for hours, and it was impossible to tell one track from another.

 _“Yuna!”_ Jin screamed, straining to hear for an answer in the blowing wind.

“Lord Sakai! You’ll bring the _yūrei_ down on us,” Kenji whispered. He looked down at the corpse at Jin’s feet. “She killed them. If she was here before, she’s not now. That means she got away.”

Without answering, Jin got back on his horse and started cantering towards the edge of the forest. But before Kenji could get back on his horse and follow, Jin seemed to tilt sideways in his saddle and tumbled into the snow. Kaze neighed and danced away from where his rider had fallen.

_“Lord Sakai!”_

Kenji ran as fast as he could to where Jin laid in the snow, holding his straw hat down to keep it from flying off in the howling wind. Kenji kneeled next to Jin and put a hand to the side of his bare neck, flinching at the heat baking off of it. He felt Jin’s heart beating steadily.

 _Not dead. Just passed out._ Kenji let out a deep sigh of relief.

Kenji tried to get one of Jin’s arms over his shoulders, but the samurai felt like a pallet of bricks in his heavy armor, limp dead weight. Kenji groaned as he tried to stand with the weight of Jin across his shoulders but couldn’t straighten up to walk. Then he tried grabbing Jin by his ankles and dragging him through the snow before he realized that it was going to take a ridiculous amount of time to do it that way.

“ _This_ is exactly why I wanted us to stop,” he grumbled as he went back to his horse to get some rope.

He finally managed to get Jin back to the closest abandoned house by tying the rope to Jin’s ankles and tying the other end to Kaze’s saddle, leading the horse back around the house as he dragged Jin along through the snow behind him.

Kenji almost let out a yelp of terror when he saw that there was a decapitated woman’s corpse in the house. He thought of the phantom scream Jin had heard and shuddered, his flesh creeping in the new quiet now that Jin had fainted.

 _That was no spirit,_ he said, trying to calm himself. _Just fever._ Nevertheless, he led Kaze down the road until he found the next one left standing, torn _shoji_ screens flapping in the wind. He took a peek through the tears to see if there were any bodies inside, but he couldn’t see any. 

Jin moaned from the snow.

“Lord Sakai.” Kenji walked back over kneeled next to him in the snow, shaking his armored shoulder roughly. _“Lord Sakai!”_

Jin’s good eye opened to look blearily up at him.

“Get up. I can’t carry you. I’ll help you up, come on.”

Jin struggled to his knees and Kenji put his arm around his shoulders, helping him to his feet.

“Did you hear that woman?” Jin said. “I thought it was Yuna.”

The tone of dreamy confusion in Jin’s voice made Kenji swallow with worry. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Let’s just get inside.”

He led Jin into the abandoned house and leaned him up against the wall. Kenji saw with relief that there was firewood already in the house near the hearth—any outside would be soaked with snowmelt. He set about getting a fire going, keeping busy to try and keep from thinking about the dead lying in the village all around them. He had never believed much in Yuna’s ghost stories, but it was hard not to when he looked at Jin’s pale face and wild black eyes.

_Did you hear that woman?_

Kenji shuddered as he worked the flint.

“Kenji.”

He looked over his shoulder at where Jin was watching him out of one clear eye—the other was just a swollen slit, the eye socket black with bruising.

“You were right. I’m sorry.”

Kenji felt a pang in his heart at the soft, almost broken sound of Jin’s voice. He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, my lord. We’ll rest, and we’ll move on when we can. You shouldn’t push yourself. We’ll never reach her if you die on the way. She’ll be safe.” But looking at Jin, Kenji doubted his own words. If one of the strongest warriors on Tsushima seemed to be walking so close to death, then nobody on the island was safe from it. “You need rest.” _More than a day of it, too,_ Kenji thought, but he would be satisfied if he could convince Jin to rest even for a few hours.

“I hope you’re right.” Jin closed his eyes and took off his helmet, leaving his sweaty head bare except for the bloodied bandage at his temple where his headband would normally be.

Kenji went back outside to the horses and returned with his bags, setting up his small cast iron cookpot over the fire and pouring water in it from one of the gourds, then taking the powdered willow bark and pouring it in, stirring it with a wooden spoon from his pack until it had dissolved into the warming water.

“Some food, medicine, and rest, and we’ll be good to go soon,” Kenji said, as much to himself as to Jin. He tried to keep his voice cheerful even though the blizzard screamed outside in reply.

“I’m glad you came, Kenji. I’m sorry I gave you a hard time.”

“It’s okay. So am I,” Kenji replied. _You’d be dying in the snow now if I didn’t,_ he added, but kept to himself. The thought of how Yuna would have reacted if that happened made his blood run cold.

There was a period of silence as the willow bark tea started to steam and finally bubble. Kenji poured some of it out into one of the cups in his pack and carried it over to where Jin was sitting. He sat next to the samurai and held the cup out to him. Jin took it, warming his hands on it.

“It shames me to be so weak.” His voice was quiet.

Kenji shook his head.

“You’re wounded, there’s no shame in it. It’s not weak to depend on your friends,” Kenji said. “That’s what friends are for. You’ve killed the eight strongest swordsmen on this island and beheaded Khotun Khan wearing his own armor. Weak isn’t a word I would ever use to describe you, my lord.”

“There’s no point in strength if you can’t protect the people you care about with it,” Jin whispered, looking into the fire.

“Don’t worry about Yuna. She’s strong enough to protect herself. Always has been.” Kenji grabbed a gourd of sake he had taken from his pack along with the medicine and tipped it up. “You’re going to feel like a fool when we catch up to her.”

“I hope you’re right,” Jin said, closing his eyes and swallowing the willow tea, listening to the storm wind with fevered ears that turned it into the anguished moaning of ghosts.

They watched the fire and waited the storm out.


	14. Kitsune (Fox Wife)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hayato and Yuna leave Cedar Temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for everyone that is still following along with this story, your comments mean a lot to me! <3
> 
> This chapter brought to you by "Don't Get In My Way" by Jack Hemsey: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=EAp6M8Ln4Ug  
> 
> 
> _Poisoned by the snakes in the grass  
>  Hoaxed by the rats out the maze  
> They should have never poked the lion as he pass  
> 'Cause now it's two hawks in a cage_

Hayato watched Lord Sakai’s woman sleep curled around the child, his eyes narrowed.

He spooned rice porridge into his mouth. He had some dried _nori_ flakes from his bag and sprinkled them on top before spooning it into his mouth with one of the temple’s wooden spoons. Norio had taken all of the bowls and utensils normally used to serve the monks and left them out for common use.

He swallowed the porridge, sitting cross-legged as he looked at Yuna across the top of his bowl.

_He gave his swords to her._

He almost drew his own sword on the woman when she lied to his face about who she was on the porch of Cedar Temple, but he stayed his hand at the last moment. Hayato had to be sure—he wouldn’t be accused of going around cutting down random peasant women like a common bandit.

But he could tell by the way she spoke that she was no ordinary peasant as she pretended to be, that her pleasantries were a mask as sure as the one the Ghost wore.

It wasn’t that she didn’t play the part well. It was just that Hayato had been raised around the court of Hōjō, where people made a habit of hiding their true intentions, where all your enemies smiled at you and called you friend. 

Her mouth smiled, and she bowed, but her eyes watched him with a hard wariness that echoed his own.

Hayato saw the quiver of arrows at her back with the same dark brown fletching that had protruded from the Mongolian’s throat, the necklace of bruises at her neck, the bloodied gash across her cheekbone. The blood on the front of her yukata, and the dried blood that had been smeared across her face and only partially wiped away. Forgotten.

That blood on her shirt was too much to be her own.

_She’s the one. From the village._

He knew he had recognized her as soon as he rode up. He hadn’t seen more than a glimpse of Lord Sakai’s woman at Castle Shimura, the one they called Lady Yuna—but in a mocking way, like they would call a _yūjo_ a lady.

He had seen only enough to know who she was. Her face was beautiful enough to be memorable, in a coarse way. Mostly he remembered the fierce look in her eyes. That had not changed. 

Instead of drawing his sword and demanding that she surrender, Hayato decided to let her believe that he believed her. Now he felt like he had been funneled into a trap like a goat into a pen. He couldn’t confront her in the temple—the mob had no love for him. He knew they would be on him like a pack of dogs if he tried to take her prisoner.

And she carried a child with her. That part he hadn’t anticipated at all.

 _A human shield,_ Hayato thought with frustration and disgust, looking at the toddler curled up in the woman’s arms. He didn’t believe that the child was hers, and he knew it wasn’t Lord Sakai’s either. If Lord Sakai had been carousing with a peasant woman long enough to have a child that old with her, talk of it would have made it back to Nara and Kyoto. He was high enough in the food chain that his marriage plans—or lack thereof—had been discussed.

Rumors said that the woman was the one who had turned Lord Sakai into the Ghost, that she was a bandit who seduced him and turned him into a thief and an assassin. But Hayato had also heard talk that Lord Sakai had been a lover of the ronin Ryuzo.

They all sounded like sake stories to him. He didn’t put much stock in idle talk.

Hayato knew nothing of her from Castle Shimura except the look of her face. He had never gotten close enough to hear her speak, only saw Lord Sakai pass his katana and tanto to her before walking towards the samurai, his hands held in front of him in surrender.

What sort of woman was she, that she would be trusted with a samurai’s family swords?

And what kind of samurai was Sakai to give them up, instead of ending his life in shame?

Hayato bristled at her words to him earlier: _No person here would speak against the Ghost. They know he is more than a man._

But Hayato saw Sakai after he was captured. The man didn’t speak, but there was nothing ghostly about him. He was small and wiry, tattered even, with a bruised face and a scruff of unshaved beard. He had seemed almost sheepish to be arrested and didn’t protest when he was jailed after what he did to the Mongolians. He had seemed harmless, divorced from the wild stories Hayato had heard about him.

Then he escaped.

Hayato finished his porridge and rinsed his bowl out in the snow outside before bringing it back in, carrying it over to the stack of clean bowls near one of the cookfires. He spotted Norio kneeling in front of one of the children, speaking quietly to the girl, and he walked over to the monk.

When Norio saw him coming, the monk pointed the girl over to the other children and stood to meet him. The monk gave Hayato a calm, neutral look.

Hayato bowed to him. “I apologize for my harsh words earlier, Norio. I did not mean for you to feel threatened. I’m here to protect these people. And you.”

“If you threaten the Ghost, you threaten these people,” Norio replied. “Most of them would not be alive if it wasn’t for him. I would have died in a stinking Mongol cage without him. He has defended every temple on this island with his life.”

Hayato sighed. “I understand that Lord Sakai has done his best to care for these people. It leaves me hope that he will still see reason.”

“There is no reason in surrendering to certain death.”

“You are not samurai,” Hayato replied, shaking his head. “You don’t understand. If Lord Sakai still follows our code, any part of him, then he will.” Hayato didn’t mention that Sakai’s estates and titles had already been stripped from him by the shogunate, that technically he wasn’t samurai at all. 

“What good do you think it will do to kill Lord Sakai, after what he has done for his people?”

“It’s not my place to say whether it’s good or not. Lord Sakai has committed a murder,” Hayato said, his voice quiet and serious. He didn’t want the peasants around them to overhear if he could help it. “He has killed his mother’s brother.”

“In a duel, I hear,” Norio said.

“From who?”

Norio was silent, looking at him. Hayato scowled.

“Norio, you know more than you say. You cannot protect him. It’s a crime.”

“I have no idea where he is, Lord Mori,” Norio said. “No more than you do. That is the truth, I swear to the Buddha. He is _ikiryō,_ has been ever since the battle at Komoda. He wanders the island like wind.”

“Then what _do_ you know?” Hayato’s brow furrowed, and he gave Norio a pleading look. Norio thought it made him look very, very young. “Please, help me Norio. Please help me stop more people from being killed. Please help me bring peace to our people, put things the way they were.”

“I know that you are chasing your death, Lord Mori,” Norio replied softly. “And that things can never be the way they were before the Mongols. If you had been here, you would know that. You should turn back now, while you can. Tell Lord Oga that Lord Sakai is gone. He’s dead or could not be found. Tell them to forget him.”

Hayato shook his head, looking back over to where Yuna was sleeping. “I can’t.” His voice was quiet but hard. Resigned. “I don’t have that choice.”

“Everyone has a choice,” Norio said.

“Yes,” Hayato said, looking back into the monk’s eyes. “The Ghost chose dishonor. And I am making a different choice.”

“You choose death.” Norio sounded sad.

“When he escaped, he made that choice for me,” Hayato replied, unable to keep a bitter note out of his voice. “Now all I can do is try to make sure that nobody else gets killed if I can help it. No one but him.”

“He’ll kill you,” Norio said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not threatening you, my lord. I’m just telling you. You may think you know the way of the sword, but you don’t know how Lord Sakai can fight. There’s a reason that they call him _goryō._ He looks like a man, but he doesn’t fight like a man.”

“I can take care of myself,” Hayato said.

“Not against Lord Sakai.” Norio glanced over at Yuna as she shifted, curling around the boy closer, and Hayato followed his gaze.

“How do you know that woman?”

“She is a friend to the temple. She’s helped many of the refugees seek shelter here.”

“And her involvement with Sakai?”

Norio looked at him evenly. “She is just a peasant, my lord.”

_That doesn’t answer my question._

Hayato stared Norio down for a moment, then walked across the temple to where the woman was sleeping. In her arms, the boy was actually awake, lying there with his thumb in his mouth under her arm. He looked up at Hayato and reached one chubby hand up at him, grinning as he gaped at the shining armor.

He reached down and took the woman’s shoulder. 

Yuna awoke to the feeling of a hard hand shaking her at the same time as her brain registered that the samurai was still in the temple with them and her dagger seemed to leap to her hand. The first thing she saw was Hayato’s amber eyes and then her own blade pointed at his armored throat where he leaned over her.

 _“Fish!”_ Kabu crowed in her arms, laughing.

“Anyone ever tell you not to lay hands on a woman you don’t know?” Yuna said, her voice rough with sleep as she withdrew the dagger and put it away in its sheath at her waist. She sat up, shifting Kabu into her lap.

“Anyone tell you not to draw a blade on someone unless you’re willing to kill them?” Hayato replied, his voice warning and soft.

“Who says I’m not?” Yuna muttered back under her breath.

 _“What_ did you say?”

She stood and gazed at him evenly, setting Kabu on the floor at her feet. “Nothing, my lord. I apologize. You startled me.” There was nothing apologetic in her tone.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You island peasants have a sharper tongue than I’d like.”

“Maybe you should return to the mainland, my lord,” Yuna said. “Where tongues are sweeter towards you.”

Hayato stilled and opened his mouth as if to respond, then Yuna saw something in his face break and he turned away. “Come. We need to get on the road.”

“Wait. I need to feed the boy first.” Before he could reply, she headed off towards the cookfire to grab a bowl of porridge. Hayato sighed and sat down on the floor next to where Kabu was sitting. The boy immediately started grabbing at his chainmail, fascinated with the way the firelight in the temple reflected off it. Hayato watched him, scowling.

 _“Koi-fish!”_ Kabu squealed.

Hayato’s face relaxed slightly.

 _If I could just hold the boy over her…_ Related or not, she was obviously attached to the boy. It would be so easy to grab the child and threaten to take him unless Lady Yuna led him directly to the Ghost.

_He could be raised by the shugo. He could become samurai._

But Hayato couldn’t. Not only would the peasants likely lynch him if he threatened the child in front of them—and he couldn’t blame them for it—he just flat-out didn’t want to do it. Even the thought repulsed him, made him ashamed to even think of it. _It’s something the Ghost would do._

The farm dog that had laid in his lap earlier approached the boy and Hayato snapped his fingers at him to keep the dog from getting near the baby. _“No! Go!”_ The dog slunk away as Yuna walked back up to them, sitting on the floor across from Hayato and Kabu with a spoon, a piece of cloth, and a bowl of porridge.

“What’s his name?” Hayato said as the boy played with the pink tassel on the end of his sword hilt before stuffing it in his mouth. Hayato scowled and pulled it out gently.

“Kabu,” Yuna said, blowing on the bowl of porridge to help cool it faster. She ate a spoonful of it herself to test the temperature. She looked at Hayato. “Do you have any children, my lord?”

“I’m not married yet,” Hayato said. “But I have a woman I would like to. Her name is Aoi Minamoto.” Just thinking of her brought her to his mind, dark laughing eyes and sparkling white kimonos. He had been quietly courting her when the call to Tsushima came. He hoped that he could win glory in battle, and her favor.

“Do you want children?” Yuna said as she spooned some of the cooled porridge out and held it to Kabu’s mouth. He gaped like a hungry baby bird and took the porridge from her readily, making a delighted shriek that caused Hayato to flinch.

Hayato looked from the boy to her. _I doubt that I’ll live that long._

“I am samurai. I have other concerns,” Hayato said instead.

“Like hunting other samurai?”

“Lord Sakai is no samurai.”

“There are plenty of Mongols still here without you having to resort to killing your own people,” Yuna said, gently scraping a dribble of porridge that had escaped down Kabu’s chin back into the spoon before refilling it and putting it back in his mouth. “How well do you know Lord Sakai?”

“I have seen him fight. At the Nagao tournament.”

“And did you fight him there?”

“No,” Hayato said, watching the boy as he reached for the spoon and Yuna pulled it expertly out of his reach before he could splatter the porridge. “My father forbade it when he heard Lord Sakai was fighting. He said I was too young.”

“And you think you stand a better chance now?” Yuna alternated between eating spoonfuls of the porridge herself and feeding it to Kabu.

Hayato looked up into Yuna’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand why you would throw away your life.”

“It’s not your place to understand it.”

“The Ghost has killed more men on this island than any other man on it,” Yuna said. “He’s killed them half a dozen at a time, fighting alone. Mongols, bandits, ronin, samurai. I don’t know why you think you’ll be any different.”

“Maybe not,” Hayato said. “But if Lord Sakai kills me, he will be declaring war on the shogunate.” He gave Yuna a hard, lingering look. “I am the first samurai to return to the north. I won’t be the last.”

Yuna didn’t answer him, only finished feeding the half-full bowl of porridge to Kabu. When she was done, she took the piece of cloth and wiped at his mouth, then stood and picked him up to turn away and put him in the cradleboard that Aina gave her. She looked at Hayato over her shoulder as she put it over her back.

“I’ll take him to use the tōsu and then I’ll meet you at the horses,” Yuna said, walking to the back of the temple to where Norio had been sitting with a few peasant men, watching them. He stood when Yuna approached him.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes.”

“You should leave the boy here,” Norio said again, looking at Kabu. “It’s safe here. Yuna—”

She shook her head. “This place is no safer than any other.” She didn’t want to say what she really felt— _your entire temple was massacred. This place is not safe. It’s only safer than nothing._

He sighed. “It’s not safe for him. I could watch him. He could stay with the other children. He could grow up in the temple.”

 _He’s mine,_ Yuna thought, surprised at the possessive ferocity of the thought. Her mind flashed to the memory of the Mongols holding the boy by his ankle, swinging him around like a joke as he screamed. _I found him and he’s mine._

“I’m taking him to Jin.”

_Jin will keep him safe._

“If you make it.”

Yuna walked past him towards the doors at the back of the temple leading out to buildings where the lavatories and the temple kitchen were. “Don’t worry about me, Norio. I know what I’m doing.” She closed the door behind her before he could respond.

She took the boy to relieve himself, unloading him back out of the cradleboard sling for the practice, and relieved herself too while she was at it. Yuna grimaced at the feeling of dried blood on her skin in flaky patches and washed her face with snow, gasping at the cold. Kabu laughed at the sound she made, and she repeated it again, exaggerating it, feeling her heart lift a little at the sound of his laughter.

“Come on, you,” Yuna said, wiping her hands dry on her pants before picking the boy back up and loading him onto her back in a snug bundle, carrying him around the side of the temple towards the front where Hayato was waiting with their horses. He held Naoki’s reins in one hand and the stallion had backed away from him, stretching them taut. Hayato held one hand out soothingly to him, trying to calm him as he stomped with his ears laid flat. His own horse stood stolidly at his side, watching on.

“He doesn’t like you,” Yuna observed, holding her hand out for the reins. Hayato scowled, handing them over.

“You have a samurai horse,” he said. _You are not samurai,_ his tone added.

“I found him,” Yuna said, mounting up easily as Naoki settled under her, snorting at Hayato. “His master was dead.”

Hayato got onto Kaito’s back beside her. The horse’s armor shone even in the dim blizzard light. Even for mid-day, it seemed dark.

“After you,” Yuna said.

_Like hell I will have you at my back._

“Ladies first,” Hayato said softly, looking at her. “You’re supposed to be leading me, after all.”

Checking the hard expression in his eyes, Yuna reluctantly pulled ahead of Hayato, breaking Naoki into a canter over the open snow, Kabu bouncing slightly between her shoulders as his face poked out of the swaddling.

The golden samurai stalked her out onto the open road, into the storm.


	15. Machibuse (Ambush)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ghost kills and wonders how many more will die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your lovely kudos and comments! <3 Also know that any minor typo that makes it through my first edit pass before uploading makes me want to commit seppuku so sorry about that. I try to fix them ASAP. 
> 
> This chapter inspired by "Arsonist's Lullaby" by Hozier: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XoQvbDROucQ
> 
> _All you have is your fire  
>  And the place you need to reach  
> Don't you ever tame your demons  
> But always keep 'em on a leash_

Jin awoke to the feeling of a hand over his mouth at the same time he realized he had dozed off. His tanto was out in an instant before he realized that it was Kenji crouching in front of him.

“Lord Sakai,” he whispered, so low it was almost inaudible. “Mongols.”

 _He let me fall asleep._ Jin was too relieved to feel a little of his strength return to be angry about it. Jin had no idea what time it was, how long they had been there. The fire had burned down to a low flame, mostly embers. He remembered having a nightmare, something about Yuna and a woman screaming, but it all felt like a blur.

Jin gave a tiny nod and Kenji removed his hand from the samurai’s mouth, looking towards the torn _shoji_ screen in the front of the house. The Mongol voices weren’t in front of the house yet, but they were coming from down the road and were coming closer.

_They’ll see the smoke from the fireplace. They’ll come straight there._

Jin pointed to the door at the back of the house, mouthing silently to Kenji: _Go._

Kenji shook his head, drawing his bow.

Jin raised his eyebrows dangerously at Kenji. _Run. NOW._ He pulled his tanto, the oiled blade sliding from the sheath silently, and swiped it in the direction of the back door with dramatic emphasis. _Now._

Kenji glanced at the front entrance to the house again before doublechecking Jin’s grim expression and moving towards the back of the house with his bow in hand, opening the door as soundlessly as he could before slipping out.

Jin moved to follow him out into the blowing snow, heading into the back yard where the Mongol corpses were sprawled. Kenji was headed towards the tree line of the woods where they met the clearing of the village, scuttling like a beetle with his body as flat to the ground as he could. He looked back to give Jin a beseeching look, and Jin waved him into the woods, scowling as he turned around to face the direction of the Mongol voices.

Grimacing, he climbed up the backside of the house onto the roof, creeping forward. His wounds throbbed, but he felt cooler, more clearheaded from the medicine.

From his vantage point, he saw a squad of Mongols walking down the main street of the village with a a horse and cart. They looked heavily armed and heavily armored. Jin saw one of the larger men carrying one of the hand-held mortars, plus two archers and two men with heavy round shields.

They weren’t close enough for Jin to understand them, and the sound of the falling snow was muffling their voice, but he did make out one word: _Utaa._ Smoke. They were talking about the house. 

_Get the hell out of here, Kenji._ Jin glanced back over his shoulder at the tree line, but he could no longer see the sake seller. _Good._

Seeing the men coming, Kaze bolted into the forest, hooves flying, and Kenji’s horse followed him, the bundles on the horse’s back bouncing as the two horses fled into the trees.

Jin reached for his left side out of habit and then cursed silently when he realized that he didn’t have his smoke bombs with him. _That would have been useful. Guess we’re doing this the old-fashioned way._

Jin waited until one of the men with shields approached the hose, the man with the mortar and an archer nearby, then dropped from the roof like a stone, He jammed the tanto into the man’s throat at the soft spot right above the bones of the chest, feeling the blade scrape against the man’s sternum as it sank deep into his torso.

He ripped the tanto loose with a pained cry and whirled around, throwing himself on the man with the mortar before he had a chance to bring the weapon up, driving the tanto into the side of the man’s neck as he gripped the man’s other shoulder and swung him around using his own weight.

Jin heard one of the archer’s shout out just as he blocked himself with the dead man’s crumpling weight and an arrow sprang from the man’s back. He heard the archer curse as he threw the dead man down, sheathing the tanto and pulling his katana instead. He felt fresh blood wetting the dirty bandages at his side where he twisted his torso jumping off the roof and swore back, holding the katana over his head.

The second man with the shield seemed torn between charging him and running.

 _“Come on!”_ Jin shouted at him.

From further away, towards the forest, Jin heard another voice call out.

_“Hey, you Mongol bastards, over here!”_

Jin felt his heart skip a beat, heard Taka’s taunting cry in his mind like a ghost: _Dogs! Mongols are nothing but ugly dogs!_

 _Kenji, gods_ damn _it._

Behind the man in front of him, Jin saw the archers cut between houses, towards the tree line.

Jin charged the man with the shield with a hoarse scream, taking advantage of his distracted glance in the direction of Kenji’s shout. The man was caught off guard by his sudden, vicious, frustrated assault and pinwheeled back before catching himself on the back foot, bringing his sword up to meet Jin’s katana with a clang.

The Mongol bared his teeth at Jin over their crossed swords, and Jin returned the snarl.

 _“Ükh!”_ the Mongol yelled at Jin, shoving him back, trying to break their locked swords.

 _“Move!”_ Jin side-stepped and swept in low, almost slicing the man in half. Jin didn’t wait to watch him drop to the dirt. He kept running in the direction he’d seen the archers run, turning right between two ruined houses. Jin dashed at full speed with his katana drawn, skidding around the corner of the porch.

One of the Mongols was kneeling between the houses, head lowered, chest heaving. Jin didn’t stop to finish him. He kept running towards the tree line.

_“Kenji!”_

Jin heard Mongol curses and crashing in the underbrush. He ran as fast as he could after it, with his heart pounding in his chest and in every stitched cut. He could hear his own breath in his ears like a bellows, deafening. Finally, he saw the Mongol archer’s back as he pursued Kenji into the forest.

 _“Hey, kharvaach, end samurai baina!”_ Jin screamed at the man’s back.

The Mongol archer stopped his chase of Kenji and turned around, his bow drawn. Jin ducked down and clenched his jaw, readying himself to run at the man while dodging his arrows at the same time. His muscles felt stiff. _I can do this._

There was a low _twang_ sound, and the man grunted, staggering a step forward in the snow until he fell on his face.

There was an arrow protruding from his back.

The Mongol groaned with his face in the snow, and Jin glared down at him for a few seconds before walking up and impaling the man’s heart through his back. He shuddered once and was still. The snow turned red around him.

Kenji jogged up, his bow still in hand. The sake seller’s face was a mask of awed fear where he had watched Jin impale the Mongol. Jin felt a rush of relief roll over him when he saw that Kenji was completely unhurt.

_You idiot._

“Kenji, you _swore,”_ Jin snarled at him.

Kenji looked at him stubbornly and crossed his arms over his chest, even though Jin could see a fearful look in his eyes. “I lied. If I see my friends in trouble, I’m going to help them.”

 _He’s afraid of me._ The thought made Jin sad and angry all at once. _He shouldn’t have seen it. He shouldn’t have even_ been _here._

“They could have killed you.” Jin took a deep breath, running one weary hand down his face. Even though his wounds hurt again he felt stronger, more alive. His skin felt cooler, even though he was parched with thirst. His heart pounded fiercely. He even found that he was hungry, and the sensation was surreal with the dead man sprawled at his feet.

“Then honor my memory and kill them back,” Kenji said.

Jin looked at the Mongol with the arrow in his back, then remembered the man dying back next to the house. He looked at Kenji, his expression stoic.

“You took two of them.”

“I _told_ you, Yuna showed me,” Kenji said. “I wasn’t useless. I wanted to protect you.”

“Still, you disobeyed me,” Jin said, turning his back on Kenji and walking back up to the alley where the dying man was kneeling.

“You’re not my master, Lord Sakai.”

“Thank the gods for small favors,” Jin muttered back. 

The Mongol was still alive when they came back up besides the house. Jin listened carefully to see if any more followed. The Mongol looked up at their approach, a rill of blood streaming from his mouth. The arrow in his chest ticked up and down with his labored breath. The man’s shaved head shone with sweat in the overcast afternoon sun. Jin cast his eyes at the sky.

 _What time is it? How many hours did we lose?_ It felt colder, edging towards late afternoon.

 _“üüniig duusga,”_ the Mongol said, his voice breathy. He spat red at Jin’s feet, looking up at him.

  
“Are you going to kill him?” Jin asked.

Kenji looked at Jin in disbelief. “Me? Lord Sakai, why me?”

“You’re the one who wanted to fight,” he replied, looking over at Kenji. His eyes were dark and serious. “This is a part of fighting. You’re the one who mortally wounded him. You should be the one to take his life.”

 _Look him in the eye and teach him a samurai never acts out of anger or fear. And take his life. With honor._ Jin remembered his uncle’s words, staring at Kenji now.

“I—” Kenji froze, looking down into the dying man’s face, then back at Jin’s face, silently pleading. He didn’t have to finish his sentence for Jin to know what he wanted to say: _I’m not a samurai. Don’t make me do this._

Jin let him look a moment, then took his tanto and cut the man’s throat, laying him gently over on his side. The Mongol closed his eyes, blood pooling on the ground.

“I’m sorry, Lord Sakai,” Kenji said. “I should have been able to do that. You’re right. I had no business fighting,” he added, quietly. “You shouldn’t fight if you can’t kill.”

“No, I’m sorry Kenji,” Jin said, wiping his tanto and katana off before sheathing both. “No one should be able to do that. I’m sorry you had to see it. I’m sorry you have to fight at all.” He felt a deep coldness wash over him as he walked back around the house. Kenji followed him in silence.

“What about the horses?” Kenji asked as they walked back into the abandoned house through the front door. Kenji walked gingerly around the corpses of the three Mongols out front, fresh snow already starting to build up on their bodies as it fell in a thick white sheet.

"They'll be back."

They went back inside. Jin grabbed a few of the branches from beside the fireplace and laid them in carefully, stoking the fire back up. Kenji sat next to the fire and watched him.

“Are you okay, Lord Sakai?”

After the fire was burning higher again, Jin sat down cross-legged next to him. He stared into the fire, his eyes far away.

“I’ve killed so many people, Kenji. I don’t even feel anything anymore when I do it.”

_Before the Mongols came, I never killed anyone. No one but that man who tried to kill Lord Shimura._

“They tried to kill us,” Kenji said, his voice quiet. He reached over to grab his pack and drag it over closer to himself, rifling through the top of it. “There’s no telling how many others they’ve killed. They deserved to die.”

“Have they killed any more than I have?” Jin said, his voice bitter.

Kenji shook his head, pulling out a cookpot on a metal frame and placing it over the coals of the fire before adding water from a gourd, miso paste, and bean curd packed in a piece of cloth. He crumbled this last into the pot, breaking it up with his fingers. “Don’t vex yourself over dead Mongols, Lord Sakai. It’s a waste of guilt. If they didn’t invade our island, they wouldn’t be dead.”

“But what about when it’s _not_ Mongols, Kenji?” Jin asked, looking over at him. “First it was Mongols. Then it was the straw hats and Ryuzo, who was supposed to be my friend. What about when it’s just the samurai? When do they try to send Masako after me? Or Ishikawa?”

Kenji felt a shiver run through him at the frank look in Jin’s eyes, and he shook his head. “I… I don’t know, my lord. I don’t think that Lady Masako or Ishikawa would turn on you.”

“How many men can I kill before it’s not worth it anymore?” Jin said, turning back to the flames. “To put them all in danger? I can’t ask them to commit treason to protect me.”

“At least a dozen more,” Kenji said. “Easily.” He took a ladle and stirred the pot of soup.

“I’m serious, Kenji.”

“I know, Lord Sakai,” Kenji said, a note of sadness in his voice. “I know you are.” He pulled two bowls and a couple of spoons from his pack, setting them aside on the hearth. “You can’t turn yourself in, you know.”

Jin just looked at him, until Kenji met his gaze again.

“I’m not _completely_ an idiot, Lord Sakai,” Kenji said. “I know you had to have thought about it.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think if you break Yuna’s heart like that I will _never_ forgive you.”

“But what if being with me gets her killed, Kenji?” Jin replied. “My own uncle was willing to kill her in front of me. How long do you think it will take them to figure out—” He couldn’t finish.

_How long do you think it will take them to figure out that I love her? That she can be used against me?_

“It doesn’t matter,” Kenji said, checking the boiling soup before ladling it into the bowls and handing one of them with a spoon to Jin, steam rising from the rim. “She would rather she died than you do that. She _will_ die if you do that. Because she’ll get killed trying to rescue you.”

Kenji held his own bowl, staring across it at Jin’s face. “So don’t do it.” His words were clipped.

There was a period of not-quite-comfortable silence between them. They drank their soup as soon as it was cool enough to swallow, feeling the warmth of it suffuse their bodies like salty sunlight. Jin couldn’t help letting out a sigh of relief.

“Lord Sakai, if you could make it stop snowing now, that would be great,” Kenji said, slurping his soup as he broke the silence. “It’s beautiful, but it’s getting annoying.”

“What are you talking about?” Jin said, holding a spoon of tofu and blowing on it before bringing it to his mouth.

“Haven’t you heard? You’re a vengeful spirit who controls the weather, a storm made flesh. The angrier you are at the Mongols, the worse the _taifuu_ will become.”

Jin shook his head. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I’ve seen you pet a fox. It isn’t _that_ ridiculous.”

Jin wondered if Yuna was out in the storm. _She hates the cold._ Even before he had confessed his feelings to her, Jin had been shocked at how easily she would roll herself into his blankets at night, pressing herself to him for pure warmth, making him laugh and jokingly scold her when she put her cold feet against his legs.

“I hope Yuna isn’t riding in this,” Jin said, drinking his soup from the rim and listening to the snow and wind batter the house.

“Knowing her? Absolutely. Cursing the entire way,” Kenji said. He grabbed a small round gourd with a stopper in it and held it over to Jin. “Sake?”

Jin raised an eyebrow at him a little, then took the gourd and unstopped it, taking a few deep swallows. Chasing the warm soup, the sake was a bloom of welcome heat. He passed the gourd back to Kenji, who drank from it.

“You’re really good at that, you know,” Jin said, swallowing back the aftertaste of the sake on his tongue.

“I think that’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.”

“I’m sorry. You’re a funny, brave bastard and I’m lucky to have you as a friend. You killed almost as many Mongols as me back there. I should say nicer things to you.”

“Oh stop. You’re going to make me blush,” Kenji said. But he was grinning.

“We need to leave here,” Jin said. “There may be more Mongols through here soon.” _They’re headed north. Why?_ Jin felt a jolt of worry for Daikoku and the people at Jogaku temple. It was one of the best-defended places on the island and was heavily fortified, but still…

“Don’t you think you should rest a little longer, Lord Sakai?”

“Not here.” _Not surrounded by these dead men, these ghosts._ “We’ll check the supplies in that Mongol convoy, then we should continue on to Cedar Temple. It’s the biggest refugee camp on this side of Kamiagata. Norio should be there. If Yuna headed this way, she might have gone to see him. She may even still be there.”

Kenji nodded. “It’s a good plan. Can’t argue with it. I’m not thrilled to go riding in this mess though, I won’t lie.”

“Me either. But we can rest again once we make it to the temple. It’ll be safer to camp there, if we don’t catch up to Yuna. And the Mongols will probably stay in their camps during the storm too. We’ll pack up and leave as soon as we finish eating.”

“The snow didn’t stop those five,” Kenji pointed out.

“If we meet any more on the road, we’ll handle them,” Jin said. “They’re headed north for some reason.” His eyes flickering over to the door of the house, where he knew the corpses of the men he had killed lay in the snow.

 _And after I find Yuna, I intend to find out why._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ükh_ – Die!
> 
>  _“Hey, kharvaach, end samurai baina!”_ – Hey archer, here’s the samurai!
> 
>  _“üüniig duusga,_ \- Finish it.
> 
> Oh man now I have to write Hayato and Yuna. O_o


	16. Hanto (Hunt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hayato confronts Lady Yuna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the comments and the kudos guys, I love them so much. <3 They really help keep me going. Sorry for any minor typos, I will edit as soon as I find them!
> 
> This chapter brought to you by "Hey Brother" by Avcii (RIP): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YxIiPLVR6NA
> 
> _Hey brother! Do you still believe in one another?  
>  Hey sister! Do you still believe in love I wonder?  
> Oh, if the sky comes falling down, for you  
> There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do_

Yuna didn’t like the samurai at her back.

Heading out into the countryside headed northwest through the blizzard, even though she didn’t look back at him she could feel his eyes boring into her back as if he was already aiming a bow there. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out her options.

_I don’t have any flowers for poison, and I can’t gather them in front of him without it looking suspicious. I’ll have to wait until he sleeps, but that won’t be until dark. If he sleeps then. He looks like the type that could go without it for days._

She risked a look over her shoulder to look at Hayato, after they had been riding a few hours. The samurai followed closely at her heels, the afternoon sun catching white fire on his armor whenever it broke through the cover of snow clouds. He stared back at her.

“Something wrong?” he said as he shielded his eyes from the setting sun to look at her.

“No. Just making sure you weren’t falling behind,” Yuna said, leaving the road to cut across the fields. She didn’t hear Kabu over her shoulder and hoped that the rocking of the horse’s gait would put him to sleep after his meal.

“Don’t we need to head north, not west?”

“We have to circle around. Mongol territory.”

“Then that’s the way I need to go,” Hayato said. “We have to take these lands back from the Mongols, so the people don’t have to cower in a temple fearing for their lives all winter.” 

“I’m not taking Kabu through that way,” Yuna replied. “It’s too dangerous. Hunt Mongols on your own time.”

“If we don’t hunt them, then they will hunt _us,”_ Hayato said, catching up to ride alongside her. “You don’t have to fight,” he said to her. “You and the boy can hide. _I’ll_ fight.”

Yuna let out a bitter bark of laughter and spurred the horse on faster in the same direction she was going. He sped up to match her pace.

“You? Alone?”

“It is the straightest way to Jogaku,” Hayato said.

“You don’t know the way to Jogaku, and you don’t know where we’re going _in_ Jogaku. You wanted me to take you, I’m taking you. Will you follow me or not?” Yuna replied, growing impatient.

Hayato stopped his horse. “As you wish. Lady Yuna.”

Yuna froze, as if the samurai had put an arrow between her shoulder blades. But the only thing that was between them was Kabu, staring Hayato down quizzically from his cradleboard.

She turned Naoki around slowly and wheeled on the samurai, not quite daring to grab for her bow yet but ready for it. Her voice was quiet. “How long have you known?”

Hayato gave her a cold, waiting look. “Since I saw you. I knew you from Shimura Castle. I saw you there.”

_Shit._

“Funny. I didn’t see you.”

“I was not wearing my father’s armor then.”

“I’d hate to see it get a nick,” Yuna said, lowering her head dangerously as she looked at him, as poised as a wild animal waiting to strike.

Hayato drew his bow slowly. He kept his voice calm. But his eyes kept darting to the cradleboard on Yuna’s back. “I will not strike down a woman unless you force my hand. But you must take me to Lord Sakai. He must surrender.” _With you in captivity, he_ will _surrender,_ the samurai’s tone said. 

_He’s worried about hurting the boy._ Yuna’s heart felt like a chunk of ice in her chest. _She_ was worried about that too. Seeing the samurai with his bow drawn, even though he wasn’t pointing it at her yet, made the entire situation real. Kabu’s weight felt very warm and very alive at her back, and she immediately regretted not listening to Norio.

_Shit._

“You would strike down a woman with a child? So much for samurai honor,” Yuna said. She grabbed her own bow in a flash, pointing it back at him with an arrow nocked, pulling it from her quiver so fast it was out in the blink of an eye. She stared down the arrow at Hayato.

“Who do you think is the better of us with this, swordsman? Do you know how many men I have killed on this island? And which of us is more likely to have poison on their arrows?”

The words had their desired effect. Hayato’s eyes widened. He hesitated.

 _“Hyah!”_ Yuna kicked Naoki into a gallop, turning him and flying across the fields, thanking the gods as she went that she had made sure to tie the straps on the cradleboard tightly so that they wouldn’t loosen as she rode. After a few seconds, she heard Hayato thundering after her.

She didn’t bother looking back at him, only kept her eyes on the path ahead. The Endless Forest had been burned almost to the ground, with only blackened stumps as far as the eye could see all the way into Kin. There was plenty of room to run, but no room to hide.

She zig-zagged Naoki between the dead trees killed by the Mongols, and the horse seemed almost to be enjoying himself as he raced through the broken forest like a fox being chased by akitas. Yuna heard Hayato beginning to lag behind, the heavy armor on his horse and the armor he wore weighing them both down.

_“Lady Yuna! Stop! Don’t make me shoot!”_

_He wouldn’t._ Yuna urged Naoki on faster, praying to the gods to protect the boy on her back. Kabu had begun to wail, frightened by their speed and Hayato’s screams. _He won’t, he won’t shoot, it’s a bluff._

_“I’ll shoot your horse!”_

_Naoki._

Yuna turned backwards in her saddle and drew her bow, letting loose an arrow after aiming as quickly as she could manage. The arrow flew from the bow and struck the horse directly in the forehead, ricocheting off the chamfron near the horse’s left eye with a hollow metallic _clang_. The bay samurai horse screamed and reared back, hooves flashing blindly.

Hayato went flying.

Yuna couldn’t help letting out a hard laugh as she saw the samurai unhorsed, and she turned back in the direction of Kin Sanctuary. She decided she would skirt the sanctuary and head north from its western side, towards Morimae.

 _“Go home!”_ she shrieked at the top of her lungs, loud enough to make him hear her over the snowstorm blowing around them.

She didn’t dare to look back to see if Hayato had climbed back on his horse and was following her. She didn’t hear hooves behind them, but she could barely hear anything over Kabu’s wailing, the thunder of Naoki’s hooves, and her own pounding heart. She urged Naoki forward with all of his speed and the horse complied enthusiastically. Yuna gave him his head and turned back around with her bow.

Hayato did not follow. Far back now she could see barely his horse standing in the ruined forest of Kin, a flash in the darkening afternoon sun, but she could no longer see Hayato.

_Maybe the fall killed him._

For a second, she was tempted to go back and finish him. If he had knocked himself cold falling from his horse, or was too wounded to walk, she could kill him quickly.

But if he wasn’t…if he was laying a trap…

_I can’t. Not with Kabu. It’s too dangerous. I’ll come back, bring Daikoku’s men with me. Catch him alone._

Instead of going back to kill Hayato, she kept racing across Kin, leaving the fallen samurai far behind her.

“Shush, Kabu, shush,” she said as she rode, trying to console the baby’s frightened wails, but she didn’t dare to stop Naoki to hold him.

Yuna rode on, with Kabu’s cries ringing in her ears.

**

“And which one of us is more likely to have poison arrows?”

Hayato froze for a moment when the woman mentioned poison. It was something he hadn’t considered, and his eyes were drawn helplessly to the broad tip arrow nocked on her bow.

Hayato had seen what the poison of Tsushima could do. Lord Oga had one of the Mongol dogs poisoned so that the samurai could see the effects of the poison first hand. He felt a chill run through him as he remembered the young black dog lying on the grass with blood pouring from its mouth and nose, side heaving as it drowned in its own blood. It wagged its tail weakly up at the group of mainland samurai who stood over it watching grimly, as if still expecting them to help it.

 _This is what you fight against,_ Lord Oga had said. _The Ghost made this poison, and now the Mongols and bandits use it as well. It can be slipped into your food and drink. It can be oiled on weapons against you. In every battle, remember it. Do not take a wound if you can avoid one. Or it may be the last blow you ever take._

 _Snake,_ Hayato thought.

Before he could nock his own arrow, Lord Sakai’s woman took off, her horse moving faster than Hayato thought possible for a samurai mount—they were stout and built for sturdiness, not speed. Brave as lions and could jump and twist on a _yen,_ but they weren’t usually good in a long run. But this was no ordinary samurai horse that he chased.

Hayato could feel Kaito lagging early under the weight of his armor, even as the stallion fought desperately to gain ground. He just couldn’t move as easily between the stumps of the destroyed forest, and little by little Lady Yuna was pulling away at a breakneck speed.

Hayato nocked his bow and drew it back.

_“Lady Yuna! Stop! Don’t make me shoot!”_

Even from as far behind as he was, Hayato could hear the boy on her back screaming from the cradleboard, and it made his heart hammer in his chest. The boy covered almost the woman’s entire back, leaving him little target that wouldn’t be a risk to the child. Even if could bring himself to shoot an arrow through the child, he didn’t have enough force to drive it through the child and into the woman behind him. She had won too much ground.

He aimed the bow and arrow at the back of her head. But if the arrow fell too far… and even if it didn’t, she would drop from the horse. Rolling with the child. The horse could fall on them both. 

_I— I can’t. I can’t._

Hayato let out a desperate cry and moved his arrow to aim at the flank of the horse flying before him.

 _“I’ll shoot your horse!”_ he screamed at her back.

Whipping around like a viper, Lady Yuna drew her bow and shot. Hayato barely saw the flash of the arrow on the air before it hit Kaito square in the face.

Kaito reared violently, screaming, and Hayato felt himself lift from the saddle. He came down on his left arm and shoulder on the blistered remnant of a tree trunk and heard a low _snap_ before hot waves of pain began radiating from his shoulder and upper arm. He rolled away from the tree trunk with his face in the snow, groaning despite himself.

He heard Lady Yuna’s wavering war cry fly back on the wind towards him: _“Go home!”_

Hayato had never missed it so much.

He tried to sit up and then grated out a cry, rolling onto his back and grasping at his left shoulder. It felt like it was alive with fiery, throbbing drumbeats. Every shift of his body weight caused a sharp, jabbing ache that made him feel sick. Suddenly the feeling was overwhelming, and he rolled over onto his uninjured right side to throw up half-digested porridge in the snow. It steamed in the cold wind and he grimaced, spitting.

_The poison. The arrow. Kaito._

“Kaito,” he moaned.

The samurai horse walked up sheepishly to Hayato, nudging him as if in apology. It caused Hayato to whimper involuntarily at the jostling movement. Hayato reached up and grabbed the horse’s dragon chamfron, using it to shakily drag the horse’s head back and forth, inspecting where the arrow had hit. There was a scratch in the golden armor beneath the hole where the horse’s left eye could be seen—nothing more.

Lady Yuna’s taunting words came back to him: _I’d hate to see it get a nick._

“Damn you,” Hayato whispered. Kaito’s ears flattened.

“Not _you,”_ he added, stroking his fingers over the soft velvet of the stallion’s nose, letting Kaito breathe on his fingers. Even with the sharp ache in his shoulder, the feeling was comforting. _She could have killed him._

_I’ve got to get up. She’s getting away._

Hayato was finding it difficult to care though. The agony coursing through his left shoulder and down his left arm frightened him. He held the arm clenched to his side, trying to keep it from moving around. It wasn’t his main sword arm but still—how was he going to be able to wield a bow or a katana one-handed? Something, some bone was broken where he had hit the tree stump. Even if he managed to find Lady Yuna or Lord Sakai, how could he be expected to fight now?

 _Fight through the pain._ Hayato thought he heard his old sparring master’s growl on the snowy wind. _Off your ass, Mori. You are_ samurai. _It’s not a mortal blow, so shake it off and fight. Quit whining. Dying in the dirt is your job. But you’re not dead until you’re dead._

 _So get up._

He sat up and bit back another groan, looking over at Kaito. Involuntary tears of pain welled in his eyes and he wiped them away brusquely with his bare palm, the injured left arm curled against his side like the wing of a broken bird.

“Good job.” 

The horse snorted white vapor at him.

“ _Lot…_ lot of help back there,” Hayato said as he used the side of the saddle to pull himself to a standing position. He stood shakily, then saw his bow where it was lying in the snowy grass. He went and picked it up, breathing out a sigh of relief that it hadn’t been cracked in the fall and that the bow string hadn’t snapped.

Hayato mounted up slowly, letting out another pained, bitten-back cry as he shifted into the saddle. The effort of just getting into the saddle was excruciating and he laid against Kaito’s neck, breathing hard. He stroked the stallion’s thick, muscular neck with his good arm.

“You’ve never been in battle before either though, have you boy?” Hayato patted him before leaning straight in his saddle, clenching his jaw and grimly trying to ignore the pain in his arm and shoulder. “You tried your best. I know.”

He didn’t have the heart to muscle Kaito into a trot or a gallop to give chase—even just the slight rocking of his walk was agony.

Instead he tried to center himself against the pain and focused on the tracks that Lady Yuna’s horse had left in the snow. He walked Kaito in the direction Lady Yuna had ridden as quickly as he could stand, his head bowed into the blowing snow.

**

Yuna kept riding at full gallop until she felt Naoki begin to tire and she could no longer stand the sound of Kabu’s high-pitched wailing in her ears. Loping the samurai horse into the forest, she dismounted and pulled Kabu off her back, taking him out of the cradleboard. As soon as his arms were free the boy covered his face with his tiny hands, wailing.

_“Mama! Papa!”_

_It’s not me he’s calling for._

Feeling sick, Yuna cradled the boy against her chest, rocking him up and down while she rubbed a hand across his back. Kabu didn’t seem hurt—the samurai had never even loosed an arrow at them.

_Why?_

She found herself on the verge of tears and blinked them back ferociously, shushing the toddler as she turned back in the direction they had run, straining to hear for the sound of approaching hoofbeats over the boy’s screams. When she did, she saw the clear trail of hoofprints that her flight had left in the snow behind her.

 _He’ll see that easily enough._ Yuna kicked herself again for assuming that the samurai was as dumb as he was naïve. _He’ll follow, if he lives._

She heard nothing but the wind and Kabu. She held him close in her arms under the blanket she had wrapped him in on the cradleboard, whispering soothing nonsense into his ear as she pressed him against her, trying to console him, rocking him like a much younger baby. She kissed his temple and the top of his head.

“It’s okay, my little one. I won’t let him hurt you. You’ll be fine.” Even as she comforted the boy looked over the back of his head in the direction they came, remembering the katana at her side.

Slowly his wails settled down into keening notes and hitching sobs, lessening little by little. Yuna continued to rock him until his sobs slowed into hiccupping breaths and his thumb came up into his mouth.

Yuna pulled away to look down into his face and he looked back up at her with red cheeks and tear-glossed eyes. She watched a large tear welled and spilled down the boy’s face as he looked at her.

“I’m sorry, Kabu.” She hitched him up in her arms and let out a deep sigh, holding him close again. “I’m so sorry.”

_I should not have brought him._

But she couldn’t leave him. Not after going through the village. She was haunted by the idea that she would leave the boy at Cedar Temple only to return later to find the temple burned, its relics smashed to gravel, the peasants hiding there imprisoned or butchered. Including Kabu.

Norio was a fearsome fighter, but he was only one man. Only one man could do so much against the Mongol army in a fair fight.

After finding Taka dead, Yuna couldn’t go through with leaving Kabu. Not knowing what might happen to him once she left. Yuna was strong, and she knew she was strong—but Taka had brought her close to a point of breaking. She had to hold on to what she little she had left. She knew in her heart she would gladly kill to keep it, the same way she knew she would have died for Taka, if she could.

Yuna heard Norio’s voice in her mind again.

_You can’t mean to take the boy. Yuna, you’re putting him in danger._

“I have to,” Yuna whispered, wrapping the boy back up and putting him in the cradleboard again. Kabu fussed this time, frowning up at her. But he was quiet again. The apprehensive look on his face broke Yuna’s heart a little.

“Only a little further,” she said to him softly, putting him back up on her shoulders as she climbed back on Naoki. “We can make it.”

She headed northwest as fast as she dared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuna: I can handle it
> 
> Also Yuna: OMG I ALMOST KILLED A BABY


	17. Ryōshi (Hunters)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin reaches Cedar Temple; Yuna reaches Morimae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading you guys, I always love hearing from you!!! <3 And if you have any fic requests or prompts or pairing requests or challenges or anything like that basically, just drop 'em in the comments and I'll see what I can do. :D Sorry for any little typos, I was pretty tired when I wrote this. I'll fix them as soon as I see them. 
> 
> This chapter brought to you by "Become the Beast" by Karliene: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmVzeriU5m0&list=RDxmVzeriU5m0&index=1
> 
> _So embrace the darkness  
>  and I will help you see  
> That you can be limitless and fearless  
> if you follow me_
> 
> _We are the lions  
>  in the world of lambs  
> We are the predators  
> the hunters, the hunters, the hunters… ___

When Jin and Kenji were within sight of Cedar Temple’s towering pagoda, Jin couldn’t help but feel a sweep of relief to see it still standing. So many Mongols still roamed the countryside, and each time he left a place he left it knowing that he could come back to find the people there slaughtered, the houses burned.

Since the Khan’s death, the remaining Mongols seemed only to grow more desperate and fearsome. After fighting them for weeks, he was completely unsurprised.

But so far, they had left Cedar Temple alone. Whether it was from the threat of Norio and how he had burned them, or they were just lucky, it didn’t appear that the Mongolians had come to Cedar Temple again since he last saw it.

“Still here,” Kenji said, as if echoing his own thoughts.

“Yes, thank the Buddha,” Jin said, and meant it. He nudged Kaze into a canter and sped towards the temple, circling the lake where the ice looked thin and sticking to the frozen ground. He could see even from a distance that a few men were standing on the porch of the temple pagoda and their posture stiffened as they approached, even though he couldn’t see their faces. They had bows in their hands.

 _Bandits?_ But as he got closer, he saw that they didn’t seem dangerous, only scared and tired and starving. Their cheekbones showed out with sharp shadows in their faces.

Jin lifted his hand up in greeting to the men and he saw out of the corner of his eye that Kenji mimicked him. _I hope they’re_ not _bandits,_ Jin thought, silently preparing himself to dodge an arrow just in case.

The two men turned to each other and lowered their bows as Jin and Kenji rode up. As soon as they saw Jin’s face up close, they both bowed low. Jin thought with dismay for a moment that they would go to their hands and knees, but they satisfied themselves with bowing at the waist.

“Lord Sakai! We didn’t recognize you. We thought you might be another samurai with the one from before. His armor looked like yours.”

Jin felt like someone had laid a handful of snow across the nape of his neck. “What samurai from before?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice calm and even to avoid frightening them. “There were samurai here?”

“Only one, my lord,” the man said. “A messenger for you. He left several hours ago after speaking with Norio. Norio put us out here to watch for more of them.”

_Damn._

Jin glanced over at Kenji, who was watching him with an anxious face. He dismounted and the sake seller did the same.

“Norio is here?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Jin strode past them to the temple doors and went to open them, only to find them shut fast. He scowled, banging on the wooden door hard.

_“Open up!”_

“Who is it?” a muffled male voice came from the other side.

 _It’s Lord Sakai,_ Jin almost said, then said instead, _“It’s the Ghost!”_

He heard a rumbling sound on the other side of the door, and it cracked open. A wary black eye looked out before pulling it wide.

“Lord Sakai! It’s really you!”

“Norio!” Jin let out of sigh of relief despite himself when he saw the monk’s round face as he opened the temple door wide. Jin moved forward to embrace the monk, but Norio hugged him carefully, as if afraid he would break.

“Yuna told me you’re wounded,” Norio said, looking down at Jin to see if he could see the source of his injuries, seeing the blood splattered across his armor with a grave look on his face. “There’s a few healers here from the villages, please let them tend you while you’re here. You look like Shinigami stalks you.”

Jin shook his head, waving the monk off. “It’s not mine,” he said, half-lying. “Yuna’s here?” He looked past Norio to the villagers beyond, his eyes searching the crowd frantically. The refugees had seen him come in and watched him with an awed silence. “Where is she?”

Norio shook his head. “Not here. Not anymore.”

Jin felt his heart drop and he fought hard to keep the alarm off his face. _Not here?_ He looked back into Norio’s face.

“Where is she?”

Norio’s eyes skated away from Jin’s for a second before meeting them again, resolved. “She left with a samurai that showed up here, a few hours ago. Lord Sakai…the messenger… she plans to kill him. He said you have to surrender to the shogunate or die.”

 _She… what?_ Jin looked at Norio with such an expression of disbelief, it could have been mistaken for confusion. 

“Lord Sakai—” Kenji started.

“Where were they going?” Jin said, interrupting him, hearing the desperate hoarse tone in his own voice but not being able to help his fear from rising up.

“She said she was going to take him to Jogaku, to find the Ghost,” Norio said. “He was looking for you, and she offered to take him. But I don’t believe she was really headed that way. She said wouldn’t lead him back to you. She was trying to get him alone. They rode northeast.”

Jin resisted the urge to rub his hands across his face. _This is a nightmare._ He took a deep breath and let it out. “I have to go, Norio. I have to see if I can find her.” He turned to immediately leave the temple again.

“Lord Sakai, please. Let the healers see to your wounds while you’re here. You look sick.”

Jin threw the temple doors open. He never stopped moving.

_She plans to kill him._

“No. I’m fine. Kenji has taken care of me well. Take care of these people, Norio. If you can spare them, send a few men to fetch a cart out of the middle of Taishu Village. It’s full of Mongol supplies, food and medicine, weapons. Send someone with an empty cart and have them ride on to Jogaku Temple, deliver half of the supplies there. Keep an eye out for more samurai. Don’t fight them if you can avoid it. They’ll kill these people. I’ll come back for you all when I can.”

“Lord Sakai, wait.”

Jin turned around and looked at the monk, impatient.

“That’s not all,” Norio said. “Yuna… she had a child with her. An infant boy.”

Jin scowled. _An infant?_

“And she took him _with_ her?”

Norio nodded. “I asked her to leave him here, but she wouldn’t. I asked her to stay here and she wouldn’t. I tried, Lord Saka. Truly, I did.”

Jin looked over at Kenji, who shrugged at him, looking decidedly nonplussed for once. “Told you she longs to bear you sons,” he muttered.

_Yuna._

“Kenji, stay here,” Jin said.

“No,” Kenji said, following him out to Kaze and Miko.

“ _Kenji.”_ Jin turned on him, his face desperate and serious. “I know I’m not your master. I know I have no entitlement over these lands any more as your lord. I know that you’re my friend, and I can’t tell you what to do. But will you _please_ do what I tell you to do. _Please._ Just this once.”

Kenji shook his head. “No. You’re riding into danger. I’m not letting you go alone. You can lecture me about it afterwards if we don’t die. You distract the bastards, I’ll get them in the back. We’ll find Yuna twice as fast that way.”

Jin turned his head away, his brow furrowed.

“Lord Sakai.”

Jin turned to look at Kenji again as the sake seller watched his face with earnest affection.

“You don’t have to do this alone. Please let us help you.”

Jin was silent a moment, then nodded slightly. Just once. He turned away from Kenji and mounted back up on Kaze. Kenji followed his lead. They trotted back out to the crossroads, where Jin studied the tracks in the half-frozen dirt and slush with a hawk’s intent gaze. He walked Kaze up along a set of tracks, then got back down out of the saddle stiffly and crouched, wincing as he brushed away fresh snow from the road.

“Two horses here. Heavy tracks. Samurai horses. The tracks are deep. They were running.” _It’s them._

“Come, Kenji. We can still catch up.”

Jin got back on Kaze took off at a dead gallop following the tracks northeast towards Kin, looking like a dark stag as he raced across fields of white snow, and Kenji followed.

**

_There was supposed to be a survivor camp around here somewhere. Ishikawa was coming to hunt his student. Maybe there’s people there who have seen him._

As Yuna headed back north towards Jogaku, the snows began to slack slightly, giving her a reprieve from the blizzard. Still, as the afternoon slid further into dusk, the temperatures began to drop sharply, and Yuna began to shiver in her saddle. Kabu had begun crying quietly again as she broke Naoki back into a gallop at first, hurting her heart, but she couldn’t afford to stop again. Eventually, the movement of the horse quieted him. 

At one point, she heard hoofbeats headed towards her rather than from behind, and she quickly pulled Naoki into a stand of trees, praying for Kabu to be quiet. She silently took him off her back and held him across her lap as she hid in the trees, one hand hovering over his mouth to cover it if he began to cry. He just gazed up at her, mouth curved into an exaggerated frown, looking frightened and puzzled.

The hoofbeats thundered towards them. Soon Yuna saw them—a Mongol war band. She held her breath and squeezed Kabu more closely against her heart, closing her eyes, pretending to be invisible, not wanting them to feel the crawl of her eyes on them as they passed.

They spoke amongst each other as they rode, shouting guttural words that she didn’t understand between their horses.

 _There’s still so many of them._ She felt a low burning resentment of the samurai at Castle Shimura. _We spend weeks driving the Mongols from Izuhara and Toyotama, and now we are banished to the most dangerous part of the island. All because of Shimura and his people._

It was hard to tamp down her anger at Shimura, even though she could see how much his death hurt Jin. It wasn’t just Shimura either—Kazumasa and Tokiasa had started it, their feud consuming the island like a powderkeg until Shimura’s brothers and father lay dead in an ambush, Tokiasa lay dead in a duel with Kazumasa, and Kazumasa lay murdered in vengeance. 

She was just a practical woman—most of the time, present circumstances notwithstanding—and it seemed so pointless, all the pain and death. If the boy in the golden armor hadn’t broken his neck falling from his horse, then she would have to come back and track him down with Daikoku and kill him.

And for what? For nothing. Just like Taka died for nothing. Just like Kabu’s parents died for nothing. And even her mother, foolish drunken and mean-spirited whore that she was.

Yuna held perfectly still in the trees until the sound of hoofbeats passed. She couldn’t tell without seeing the road how many were passing by. She waited longer than she thought she needed to until the sound of the Mongols had completely faded.

At one point, Kabu let out a frustrated hooting noise, wriggling on the cradleboard, and she winced at the loudness of it in the quiet forest, but there was no returning sound of hoofbeats. She put her finger across the boy’s lips.

“Shhhh, Kabu,” Yuna whispered.

Once she was sure the Mongols were gone for good, she rode on. Eventually she spotted a campfire on the horizon, the smoke of the fire rising up through the frozen woods like a black flag. _Better hope the Mongols don’t see that and decide to investigate,_ Yuna thought as she turned Naoki to head in the fire’s direction.

When she rode up on the camp, she saw a group of farmers and peasants huddled around the fire. The women let out a startled gasp when she rode up.

“Peace,” she said, dismounting. “I’m not here to hurt anyone.” She sat cross-legged next to the campfire beside one of the women, holding her hands to the fire to drive the stiff chill from them. Once they had warmed a little, she pulled the cradleboard off her back, letting out a sigh of relief to have the weight off her shoulders. She unwrapped Kabu and sat him in her lap, wrapping her arms around him to keep him from wandering into the fire, but keeping him near it so he could get warm.

“Pretty,” Kabu said, softly.

She looked across the flames at them.

“You need to be careful,” Yuna told the ragged men and women sitting around her. “I just passed a group of Mongol riders. They could see your fire and come here. Especially after dark.” 

One of the men looked at her grimly. “We cannot smother our fire. We’ll freeze to death.”

 _If the Mongols find you, you’ll die a much worse death than falling asleep in the snow,_ Yuna thought, but didn’t say.

Instead she said, “I’m looking for Sensai Ishikawa. He’s a samurai, an archer from Izuhara. He was supposed to pass through this area. Have any of you seen him?”

The man nodded. “He came through here, headed for Morimae Brewery. He didn’t tell us his business though. Only asked us if we’d seen any Mongol archers, or a Japanese woman riding with them. I told him if we had, we wouldn’t be talking to him.”

Yuna nodded to herself, rubbing Kabu’s hands thoughtfully between hers, warming them. “Good. Thank you. You should head to Cedar Temple when you can.”

“I heard that people were starving at Cedar Temple,” one of the women said, her voice quiet.

“You have more food out here?” Yuna asked, her voice a little sharper than she meant. “At least the people there aren’t being hunted. If the Mongols find you, you’ll wish you had a temple door and archers between you and them.”

“We’ll try,” the man said, looking at Kabu over the fire. “It’s all we can do.”

“The Ghost is working on driving these Mongols from our island,” Yuna said. “Anything he steals from the enemy, he’ll give back to the people.” 

“I don’t know how much longer we can last,” the man replied. “The samurai are refusing to let people pass through Castle Shimura into Toyotama where it’s safe. Too afraid of assassinations.” The man said this last bitterly.

 _They’re using Jin,_ Yuna thought, feeling cold and holding Kabu closer to her. _They’re locking us in the north to freeze to death and kill Mongols for them. They’ll use cold and starvation to turn the people against us._

Yuna began to bundle Kabu back up, ignoring his howls of protest but trying to soothe him as she wrapped him back up. _He’s tired of traveling. So am I._ Yuna found she was just tired in general. She thought once the Khan was dead that the dust would begin to settle. But already they were being hunted.

 _That’s fine,_ Yuna thought as she slung Kabu back over her shoulders, climbing on Naoki. The refugees watched her go with hollow expressions.

_We know how to do some hunting of our own._

Yuna rode on into Morimae, bracing herself around every blind turn to run into a Mongol convoy or even a squad of samurai. But the further north she got towards Port Izumi, where the Mongols had sheltered their boats, the more of a wasteland Kamiagata became.

But there were people at the brewery, and Yuna even saw a few men with swords on their hips, looking bruised and wary. Yuna spotted a horse in a samurai’s _kura_ grazing in front of the main building of the brewery and she galloped up to it, dismounting and walking inside.

Ishikawa was standing inside with two men, talking seriously with a gourd in his hand. A fire roared in the hearth behind them. He looked up when Yuna walked in.

 _Thank the gods._ Yuna wanted to collapse with relief. _Tadayori himself._

“You’re Sakai’s woman,” Ishikawa said, scowling at her. The eyes of the other two men widened at the sound of Jin’s name.

_I see he’s still an ass._

“Yuna,” she said, hitching Kabu up on her back. “Maybe if I fight at your side a few more times in battle, you’ll remember it.”

The archer narrowed his eyes at her, and then his sharp gaze flickered to the baby whimpering on her back. His eyebrows twitched but didn’t raise.

“What are you doing out here?” he said. “Especially with _that.”_

“A samurai is hunting me,” Yuna replied, looking back towards the door as if Hayato could come bursting through behind her at any moment. “A messenger from the shogunate. He’s come to kill Jin. And there are Mongols on the road. That’s where the boy came from.”

“Samurai?” Ishikawa’s voice held a note of surprise. He looked at the men he had been speaking with. “Let me have a moment alone with her.”

The workers of the brewery didn’t dare argue with the sensei. They filed out, giving Yuna a final glance as they went. Once they were gone, Ishikawa turned back to Yuna.

“Who is this samurai?”

She shook her head. “Some mainlander. Hayato Mori, he said. Just a boy. Stubborn though. Chased me halfway across Kin before I unhorsed him.” _Stubborn as Jin,_ she almost said.

“You _unhorsed_ him?”

“I shot an arrow at his horse and it struck the horse’s armor. It shied,” Yuna replied. “Threw him. I got lucky. He scared me half to death.”

Ishikawa gave her an appreciative look. “Hmph. Maybe I chose the wrong student in Tomoe to pass on the way of the bow.”

 _Maybe you did,_ Yuna thought. She had heard of Tomoe from Jin and the tale made her disgusted. What she would have given as a child to be given the opportunity that Tomoe had gotten. To have a house where Taka could have been apprenticed to a blacksmith, married to whomever village woman he pleased. Instead she had been raised a slave, picking up the bow only to survive.

It was too late to worry about it now.

“The samurai will track me,” Yuna said. “He’ll follow me here. I have to keep moving.” _I have to get back to Jin._ She suddenly felt a rush of anxiety. What if his illness had worsened while she was gone? What if he was lying in the temple dying of fever, and Daikoku’s men couldn’t find her in the storm?

_I’m coming Jin._

“It’s getting dark,” Ishikawa said. “You and the boy should stay here tonight. If he comes, we’ll deal with him. You saw him pursuing you?”

Yuna shook her head. “No. He never got up.”

“Maybe you got lucky. Killed him.”

“I’m never that lucky.” She looked at Ishikawa with a worried expression. “I don’t know what he’ll do if he comes here.”

“Doesn’t matter. We know what _we’ll_ do if he comes here.” Ishikawa growled. “Let him come.”

“I’ll make better time in the dark.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Ishikawa said sharply. “You have a child with you. Stop being so pigheaded. You sound like Sakai.”

Yuna felt her cheeks burn and was silent for a few moments. Kabu babbled in her ear. “You’re right,” she said. “I shouldn’t have brought the boy.”

“Why _did_ you bring him?”

“What was I supposed to do?” Yuna said, growing fierce. “Just leave him in the snow to die? I suppose that’s what a samurai would do. Let him die an honorable death.”

“It would have been been kinder,” Ishikawa said flatly as he looked at her. “You’ve seen this place. How easy are you going to be able to fight with a child? And if you fall, the Mongols will torture or kill him.”

“If I hadn’t intervened, they already would have.”

“So you are supposed to fight the Mongols with some baby clinging to your back like a monkey?” Ishikawa snapped back. “Be reasonable, Yuna. Sakai led me to believe you’re an intelligent woman.”

She glared at him. “I just have to get him back to Jogaku. He’ll be safe there.”

“There is nowhere safe in Kamiagata. Not until the Mongols are gone. But this is one of the safest places in the north. You can rest with the child here until morning. If that samurai catches up to you, you don’t want to have to fight him in the dark with a baby on your hip.”

Yuna silently took Kabu off her back and started unwrapping Kabu again before she picked him up. He threw his arms around her neck and laid his chin on her shoulder. She stroked his back as she looked at the archer. It occurred to her that he hadn’t heard about Jin.

“Jin is wounded. In a duel with his uncle. It was pretty bad.”

Ishikawa’s face shuttered into a guarded expression. “Dying bad or I just have to listen to him complain about it for a month bad?”

“Not dying.” _Please no._ “But he’s weak. He can’t fight the Mongols on his own.”

Ishikawa’s voice was filled with warm, lethal promise.

“He’s not alone.”


	18. Karasu (Ravens)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hayato is taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the continued encouragement and comments guys, I love you!!! <3 
> 
> This chapter brought to you by "Far From Home (The Raven)" by Sam Tinnesz: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8y4Sz8_Oq1M
> 
> Notes for Mongolian dialogue at the end of the chapter! Sorry if I fucked any of them up, I am working off Google Translate. :P  
>    
> _I'm sending a raven  
>  With blood on its wings  
> Hoping it reaches you in time  
> And you know what it means_
> 
> _'Cause out here in the darkness  
>  And out of the light  
> If you get to me too late  
> Just know that I tried_

_It’s getting darker._

Hayato strained to see the tracks of the horse ahead of him in the blowing snow, his hurt shoulder and arm throbbing with the vibration of his heartbeat. Part of him wanted to take off his armor, to remove the heavy weight from resting on the bone he knew was at least cracked there. But just the thought of having to pull the armor off when he could barely move his arm was excruciating.

Sudden thunder rumbled across the snow-blown plains, and a flash of lighting made him gaze at the sky, feeling like he had to drag his hanging head upwards. A flock of glossy, well-fed ravens passed overhead, heading from one massacre to another.

When he looked up, he spotted the Mongols coming across the field.

There were four of them. He whipped his head to either side to look for a place to hide, knowing even before he did it that he was out in the open and it was useless, but it was too late—they were already headed at him at a full gallop, whooping.

_This is it._

He called Nara to his mind, thinking it would probably be the last time. He imagined his favorite grove of cherry trees, their pink petals falling like warm fragrant snow, the way the spotted deer grazed beneath the trees without fear of the killing arrow.

Hayato took a deep, cleansing breath, then dismounted, gritting his teeth against the fresh pain when his feet hit the ground. He used Kaito’s reins to pull the horse’s head around and look him in the eye, then released them and slapped the stallion on the flank as hard as he could.

_“Go!”_

Kaito whinnied sharply and took off in the opposite direction from the Mongols coming. Hayato watched him run a minute before turning back to the Mongols. He drew his katana, trying desperately to ignore the sharp ache in his left arm and shoulder as he did. He stood alone as they rode towards him like a living earthquake.

_“Nergüi! Batu! Ter moriig av! Bi ene üneriig khüsch baina!”_

Two of the Mongols broke off from the others and took after Kaito with the feathered hooves of their black horses flying, galloping past him and hooting at him mockingly as they went.

“Run,” Hayato whispered to Kaito, not daring to look back at where the horse had gone. He watched the other three Mongols coming straight at him. He braced himself, feeling a cold sweat break out across his forehead in his helmet even in the frigid wind.

The three riders circled him warily at a safe distance from his sword, two with wicked looking bows drawn and pointed at Hayato’s face, while the third watched on. The one watching and leading them was a Mongol that didn’t look much older than Hayato himself. He wore a steel helm with a plume of black feathers and a thick leather jerkin with plates of steel sewn into it. His hair fell in long braids over either shoulder, ringed with metal. He had no bow—he held a sword with a cruel, polished curve.

The Mongol smiled a little, looking at Hayato with a darkly amused expression as his eyes wandered up and down the golden armor with appreciation. His eyes lingered where Hayato held his left arm clenched against his left side, katana raised in warning with the right. It glimmered in the storm-light, trembling with Hayato’s effort to hold it up one-handed. _“Ene ni tüüniig altan buga gej boddog,”_ the Mongol said, and the other two laughed.

Hayato was silent and still. Waiting.

One of the other Mongols spoke. _“Ter sharkhadsan baina. Ta üüniig Süns gej bodoj baina uu?”  
  
_The young leader glanced at the other Mongol and shrugged. _“Bid tüüniig aav deeree avaachikh bolno.”_

He looked back at Hayato before dismounting, holding his sword ahead of him.

“You’re hurt,” the Mongol said in stiff, stilted Japanese. He used his sword to point at Hayato’s katana, and then at the frozen ground. “Give up.”

 _They speak our language._ Hayato’s brow furrowed. “No.”

“Don’t be a… _teneg._ Idiot.” The Mongol jabbed his sword at Hayato’s arm. “Broken.” The Mongol grimaced, frustrated, as if he couldn’t figure out the words he wanted to say. Instead he glared and jabbed his sword at _Hana_ , and then at the dirt. “Drop sword. Or die.”   
  
“No,” Hayato said again. He tightened his grip on the hilt of the katana.

 _“Tüüniig al Enkh,”_ one of the mounted Mongols said to the one with the sword, looking cold and bored.

The Mongol with the braids looked at the other man as he spoke, and Hayato saw his chance. He threw himself at the other man, crying out as he did. The Mongol was startled but dodged him with mongoose speed and brought the sword up to meet Hayato’s katana, deflecting it. Even using the katana in his uninjured hand, the jolt of meeting the other man’s sword on his injured shoulder was agonizing, and Hayato felt his head swim.

 _No leverage,_ Hayato thought desperately, throwing himself backward to avoid a downward swing of the other man’s sword by what felt like two inches. He moved his left hand to the hilt of the katana, his stomach rolling at the pain as he moved his upper arm. The Mongol swiped at him and Hayato ducked to the right, swiping back. He felt the blade hit the Mongol’s thigh but there wasn’t the right amount of force behind it. Just the impact of hitting the man’s leg with the sword made Hayato feel like he might fall on his face.

_Stay up. Stay up stay up stay up._

The Mongol let out a grunt and his face drew into an angry scowl as he came for Hayato again, letting out a war cry of his own. Hayato braced for the fall of his sword but instead the Mongol weaved in and punched Hayato’s wounded shoulder with his off hand, the punch pulled quickly but with savage force, all of the man’s weight and muscle behind it.

The direct strike against his broken collarbone caused an explosion of white stars to race across Hayato’s eyes. He fell backwards into the snow, gray sky filling his vision. He tried to strike at the Mongol from the ground, but the other man avoided the blade. He kicked the hilt of the sword from Hayato’s hand brutally, sending it skittering across the ground and throwing up a cloud of snow.

The Mongol stood over Hayato, holding the curved sword’s blade tip at his throat.  
  
“Stay. Down. Like biting dog,” the Mongol added, disgusted.

Hayato obeyed. He shivered in agony on the freezing ground and closed his eyes, waiting to be killed.

The braided Mongol crouched next to Hayato—Hayato heard him squat and draw near. Hayato heard him breathing and he felt hoofbeats through the ground as the other riders returned. He heard agitated whinnying and knew that they had caught Kaito too, after all. 

_Kaito. You were supposed to run._

“You cut me, Ghost.”

_Ghost?_

Hayato opened his eyes with effort, looking up at the Mongol peering down into his face. Again, he was surprised by how young the other man looked up close under his helmet, even with a mustache and beard. The Mongol slapped his own leathered thigh then brought up his hand, showing Hayato the bright red blood there as if he was scolding a child. He didn’t seem that concerned with the wound. If anything, he still looked amused.

“I’m not the Ghost,” Hayato whispered.

 _“Oh?_ It’s true. You do not fight like the Ghost.” The Mongol shook his head in mock pity. “You do not look like the Ghost either. You look like _teneg_ boy. But maybe. The Ghost would lie.”

The Mongol pulled Hayato’s helmet off his head roughly, and Hayato winced as it felt like he almost took off an ear with it. The Mongol handled the antlered _kabuto_ in his hands, rubbing his thumb over the gold and pearl blossoms while he hummed excitedly under his breath, stroking the hammered deer running along the sides of the helmet.

The Mongol took off his own helmet and then put Hayato’s helmet on in its place, looking back to his men and grinning. He held his hands up. _Ta-da._

The other men laughed, all but one. He looked at the braided Mongol unsmiling. He was a stouter, older man, an ugly scar across his cheek.

 _“Chi tüüniig alakh gej baina uu ügüi yuu? Khüiten baina,”_ the man said.

The braided Mongol looked back to where Hayato was laying, leaning over him in the golden helmet.

“My friend says you die now. Is that your wish?”

Hayato closed his eyes again and thought of his miserable weeks locked up at Shimura Castle, how many times he had asked for a tanto to end his life, how many times it had been denied to him. He hadn’t wanted to die, not even then. He just didn’t know what else he could do. It wasn’t possible to die of embarrassment. If it was, he’d already be dead a dozen times over.

Hayato found that he didn’t want to die now either. Even feeling the hard dirt at his back and the dull stabbing agony of his shoulder and the fresh pain in his kicked fingers, he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die on the sword of a man who wore his father’s helmet while other men laughed.

“No.”

The Mongol raised his eyebrows, the effect almost comical under the antlered helmet. “No?” He furrowed his brow, looking at Hayato with a mix of bemusement and confusion.

Hayato didn’t answer.

The Mongol stood and took the antlered helmet off, walking over to tie it to his horse’s saddle after putting his own helmet back on his head. When he was done, he grabbed another piece of rope and he walked back over to Hayato, dragging the samurai to a kneeling position. Hayato froze with pain as the Mongol dragged him upright but managed not to cry out, sweating with the effort.

 _I should have said yes,_ Hayato thought dully as he remembered the scorched corpses he had taken down from blackened stakes on his way into Kamiagata, their charred screams frozen forever. _He would have used his sword._

He couldn’t help letting out a short, low keening noise when the Mongol pulled his left arm behind his back to tie his hands there.

 _“Ta tüüniig alakh gej baina gej bodson uu?”_ the scarred man said again, sounding annoyed.

The braided Mongol jerked the ropes around Hayato’s wrists tight, pulling another grunt of pain from him, then dragged the samurai to his feet. Hayato went willingly, anything to lessen the pressure on his arm and shoulder.

The braided Mongol looked back at the one who had spoken. _“Bi ene khuyagiig khüsch baigaa bögööd avch yavakhyg khüsekhgüi baina.”_

“He wants you dead. I’m in charge. You lucky,” the Mongol said as he took a rope and looped it around Hayato’s neck before tying it to the side of his own saddle where Hayato’s helmet swung. “Follow.” The Mongol mounted back up. Hayato could see the blood soaking his leather trousers in a dark wide band where he had sliced the man, but if the Mongol was hurting, he didn’t act like it.

Hayato looked over at where Kaito had been roped to one of the other Mongol saddles. The Mongol had gentled him, and the stallion seemed to look over at Hayato with a calm, stoic expression. Resigned to his fate. It was an expression that said he would bear any warrior on his back before dying to them. He was an animal of service. Hayato related to him in that way.

_At least they didn’t kill him._

“Please don’t hurt my horse,” he said to the braided Mongol with a dull voice, not looking at him.

Hayato felt a phantom slap from his sparring master so real he thought he felt his head ring with it. His entire childhood and adolescence had been punctuated by those hard, open-handed slaps to the back of the head.

_Don’t beg the enemy. For anything._

Hayato clenched his jaw as the Mongols began trotting their horses forward. Hayato broke into a jog behind and to the side of the lead Mongol’s horse, trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other as snow slapped him in the face, chasing away blessed unconsciousness.

_If I pass out, they’ll just drag me._

Hayato closed his eyes and narrowed his focus beyond the sharp grating pain and fear and cold. He focused on his father’s face, broad and quick to laughter. His father had gifted him Kaito as a colt, unbroken. _It’s up to you to make him. The same way that Hansuke is making you, day by day. He will test you, but that will make you love him more. The same way Hansuke would die for you, boy._

_I don’t want to die. Not yet._

_I just want to go home._

Instead he ran in the opposite direction, trying to focus on the horizon to keep from fainting, the noose of the Mongols tight around his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Nergüi! Batu! Ter moriig av! Bi ene üneriig khüsch baina!”_ \- Nergui! Batu! Get that horse! I want that armor!
> 
>  _“Ene ni tüüniig altan buga gej boddog.”_ \- This one thinks he is a golden deer
> 
>  _"Ter sharkhadsan baina. Ta üüniig Süns gej bodoj baina uu?”_ \- Look, he's wounded. Do you think he is the Ghost?
> 
>  _“Bid tüüniig aav deeree avaachikh bolno.”_ \- We'll take him to my father, he'll know.
> 
>  _Teneg_ \- Fool
> 
>  _“Tüüniig al Enkh."_ \- Kill him Enkh. 
> 
> _“Chi tüüniig alakh gej baina uu ügüi yuu? Khüiten baina."_ \- Are you going to kill him or not? It's cold. 
> 
> _“Chi yuu gej bodoj baina? Ene nadad tokhirokh uu?”_ \- I thought you were going to kill him?
> 
>  _“Bi ene khuyagiig khüsch baigaa bögööd avch yavakhyg khüsekhgüi baina.”_ \- I want this armor and I don’t want to carry it.


	19. Koibito-tachi (Lovers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin and Kenji make their way to Morimae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much for following along with this story and leaving me kudos or comments, it means a lot! <3 If it takes me a day or two between updates now it's because I'm working on a few other WIPs as well. :) 
> 
> This chapter brought to you by "Minstrel's Prayer" by Cartel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-yha3kK_kM
> 
> _Shelter me oh genius words  
>  Just give me strength  
> Just to pen these things  
> And give me peace to well her wings_
> 
> _And carry on, oh carry on  
>  All you minstrels of the world  
> We will catch our ladies ear  
> We will win for us the girl_

Even though it snowed and grew colder and darker the farther east they traveled, Jin pushed the horses harder and harder as the tracks they followed became fresher and easier to see in the snow. He rode as fast as he could without risking losing the tracks, but he didn’t have to slow down much to see them. The snow had been building up on the ground and the hoofprints and pawed-up snow rand eep.

Despite the blizzard, the tracks on the road were easy enough to follow. Few of the refugees of Kamiagata were riding that Jin had seen—if they still had horses, they kept them at liberated villages where they could be guarded. There wasn’t much mistaking the tracks of samurai horses for the tracks of the smaller, shaggier ponies that the richer of the island villagers used.

That left Yuna, the samurai… and the Mongols.

Jin knew that the samurai were a threat. He understood why Yuna and Norio feared them. But the only threat he really felt was the Mongols. As long as they stalked Kamiagata, no villager was safe from being raped or burned or put to the sword.

_I cannot turn my back on Kamiagata until they’re gone. And these people are safe._

Kenji chatted at Jin over the first hour that they rode, even though he had to shout to be heard above the wind and Jin ran the horses so hard that it was hard for Kenji to keep the conversation going. But Jin didn’t have the heart to tell him to be quiet. He didn’t do much to uphold his end of the conversation, but that wasn’t much of a deterrent to Kenji.

The truth was that his nerves were burnt raw by ambush after ambush and rise and fall of Kenji’s voice was soothing even as Jin rode while glancing up at the road and down at the horse tracks.

As afraid as he was that his friends would fall in battle at his side, on his command, he was much more afraid to be alone.

When they passed closer to Kin Sanctuary and the sparse cover cleared into decimated forest, Kenji’s chatter became silent as they stared out over the desolation. Fires burned here and there against the horizon of Kin.

“Why would they do this?” Kenji asked Jin. “Why rule an island of ash?”

“They’re not interested in ruling us. They were stopping here for resources. Slaves and supplies. The mainland is their target,” Jin replied. But as they passed a pile of corpses and drove a flock of scavenging ravens up into the darkening afternoon, he thought: _This is my punishment. This is my punishment from the Khan. For liberating Toyotama and Izuhara._

“If the Mongols are going after the mainland, why are the samurai wasting time going after you?”

“Because they think I’m leading the peasants against them.” _More than that, Kenji, and we’d need some sake and a warm fire._

But as they rode, he couldn’t help but think of his father. Kazumasa always loomed large in his mind, not as loud as his uncle’s voice guided him, but more like a shadow that stood by, watchful. Judging. Kazumasa, who had seethed and chafed under the mainland’s control just as Tokiasa Yarikawa had chafed under the yoke of Shimura. Kazumasa, whom Jin could never remember laughing even before his mother got sick.

He was not unkind—Jin would never tell anyone that he wasn’t kind. But he stalked the halls of Sakai like an angry, pacing panther, always out on the road to learn of any troubles in the surrounding prefecture and to blood bandits if he needed to.

Jin didn’t know everything that had transpired between Yarikawa and his father. But whatever it was, it had been enough to drive both men to their deaths.

 _Except that Kazumasa would still be alive if it wasn’t for me._ Jin wondered what his father would be like now, all these years later. His memories of his father were fuzzy with time already, and sometimes when he thought back on what he could remember of Kazumasa, all he could remember was his father’s narrowed dark eyes set on a horizon that no one could see but him, his silent impatience. He was always kind to Lady Sakai, but his kindness was formal, courteous.

He hunted bandits. He goaded Tokiasa. He hunted pirates. He silently gave small gifts to both Jin and village children. The only time Jin could remember hearing his voice through a wall was when he had spoken savagely of Tsushima’s sovereignty.

 _What fealty, what tribute do we owe them? This is_ our _island. The shogun does_ not _rule Tsushima._

And his uncle’s low response: _Keep your voice down._

He was loved and feared and hated, like storms are.

 _Kazumasa should never have been born on an island,_ Lord Shimura had told Jin once, after his father’s death and he had been living at his uncle’s fortress for several months. At the time, Jin hadn’t really understood what Lord Shimura meant.

Now, as a man, Jin thought he might have a better understanding.

When they reached a certain point in the forest the tracks changed. Jin’s breath quickened as he saw that one set of the tracks pulled away, outpacing the other and going off the road.

“Kenji, this way.” He spurred Kaze into a gallop, following the diverted tracks. He noted that the space between the hoofmarks for both horses was widespread, and the marks themselves were cut deep. _They were flying. He was_ chasing _her._ Jin felt his heart pounding as he rode, barely hearing Kenji struggle to keep up with him.

They came to a place where the tracks changed again. Jin dismounted from Kaze and crouched.

“Someone was unhorsed here. But there’s no blood,” Jin said. He ran his fingers above the indentation in the snow where a body had fallen, disturbing it.

“Maybe it was an arrow,” Kenji said from Miko’s back. “An arrow doesn’t bleed much at first.”

“Yeah, but it still does,” Jin said, his gaze piercing as he carefully walked around the tracks, looking for even a drop of blood in the snow. He reached down and brushed at it to see if there was any blood that had been covered by fresh snowfall.

There was nothing.

“They got back up.”

“The other tracks keep going this way,” Kenji said, pointing his horse alongside the continued track as it headed northwest.

Jin got back up on Kaze and looked. _One set running…and now the other walking._

_Someone got hurt._

They kept following. They came upon the traces of battle right before the field at the crossroads between Kin and Morimae.

Jin swallowed as he looked at the ground. The snow was disturbed by several footprints, horses and mens’ boots. Many of them, many more than the two sets of horse tracks they were following. The snow had been carved out in a tight circle of horse tracks around the main area of tumbled snow.

_Mongols._

There was blood splashed on one patch of the snow—not much, but enough to stand out. Looking past it, Jin saw something glimmering in the snow. He got back down from Kaze and walked over to it.

It was a katana.

Carefully, Jin reached down and picked the sword up out of the snow. It was heavy and exquisitely made, steel layered time and time again until you could see the hours of labor rippled through the blade’s edge. The hilt was wrapped with white and gold, a light pink tassel dangling from the end.

“What is it?” Kenji asked, coming up behind him.

Jin turned and held it out so Kenji could see it.

Kenji looked at the sword silently, then up at Jin.

“He would not have left this behind,” Jin said. “Not on purpose.”

“You think the Mongols got him?”

Jin shook his head. “I don’t know. If they did, why no body?”

“Took him prisoner,” Kenji said.

Jin couldn’t help but think of the samurai he had seen staked across the island for target practice, arrows sticking out of their chests, the blood-flecked fletching whipping in the breeze. The cangue cages. The burnings.

 _Took him to torture,_ Jin thought, and felt a shiver go down his back despite himself.

He stood up and walked over to the main track. There was still a set of hoofprints headed northeast. Towards Morimae. The rest of the hoofprints headed northwest.

“These tracks go on.” Jin walked over to Kaze and pulled a blanket out of his bedroll, wrapping it carefully around the samurai sword before carrying it over to where Kenji was sitting on Miko.

“Ready for a promotion?” Jin asked seriously, holding the sword up to him.

“What? _No,_ Lord Sakai, I don’t—”

“I was kidding. Hold this for me,” Jin said, passing it up to him. “Tie it into your pack and whatever you do, don’t drop it. Or cut yourself.”

“That’s not funny,” Kenji said.

“I thought your expression was pretty funny,” Jin replied, climbing stiffly back on Kaze, being mindful of his wounds.

“What about the samurai?” Kenji asked.

Jin remember Norio’s words about him, back at Cedar Temple. _He said you have to surrender to the shogunate or die._

“Nothing else matters until Yuna is found,” he answered. “We follow the northeastern tracks. Morimae Brewery is near, Ishikawa was supposed to be staying there looking for leads on Tomoe. We’ll follow the tracks and see where they lead. Yuna knew Ishikawa was out here. She might have gone to him for help.”

**

They followed the tracks and reached Morimae Brewery just at dark, when there was only a dim line of light left on the western horizon to brighten the sky to purple—the rest had faded to the inky indigo of night, and there were no stars. The moon was hidden by clouds.

“Thank gods,” Jin said out loud in a heaving breath as he saw Naoki in a lean-to beside the brewery’s main building, guarded against the storm. He was nosing through an armful of hay in a manger and looked up lazily as they rode up.

“That’s Yuna’s horse,” Kenji said, his voice cheerful as they came to a stop. “I told you Yuna could take care of herself.”

 _I said the same thing to Yuna of Taka,_ Jin thought, but didn’t say.

_“Sakai!”_

Jin and Kenji both looked up. Sensei Ishikawa was crouched on a nearby rooftop looking down at them, an arrow nocked and pointed as he drew his bow over the edge of the building. He was dressed in an archer’s armor, thick fur and leather. He lowered his weapon when they looked up in recognition and he saw for sure who it was.

Ishikawa climbed down while Kenji took Miko and Kaze’s reins and went to tie them up at the lean-to with Naoki and Ishikawa’s mount. Jin waited for him to walk up.

“I thought you were the samurai for a minute,” Ishikawa said. “You’re lucky I’ve seen you in that armor before.”

“The samurai that was with Yuna?”

“Yes, Yuna said he’s been hunting her.”

“She’s here?”

Ishikawa nodded. Jin felt a wave of relief sweep him so hard he thought his knees might buckle, but he managed to keep it off his face. “She inside?”

“Yes.”

Jin didn’t say anything else, just walked past Ishikawa into the brewery. When he walked in, he saw a fire in the hearth and rows of wide sake barrels lining the room…but no Yuna. He sighed, untying and taking off his helmet, feeling the weight of it lift from him as he pulled it off his head, making the hair on the top of his head stick up in disheveled tufts, pulled loose from his top knot to fall around his face. He put the helmet on the floor against the wall.

There was a ladder in the back corner of the room. He walked over and climbed up.

The upper floor of the brewery was quiet and glowing with _andon_ lamps. Jin saw Yuna lying in his armor on a _futon_. She was laying down, a tiny boy curled up against her chest while she had her arm across his waist. Her eyes were open when he came up and widened as she saw him.

“Jin,” she whispered in disbelief, as if she couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that he was in front of her. She got up carefully, so she didn’t disturb the sleeping toddler, and came over to him. Jin took a deep breath and opened his mouth, not knowing what he was about to say, then closed it and threw his arms around her like a vise. Her arms came back up around him, squeezing.

It hurt. But it was the best hurt he had ever felt in his life.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered. “I was so afraid.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuna whispered back, her hand coming up to rest on his jaw. She leaned back to look into his eyes. “You weren’t supposed to come.”

“You weren’t supposed to leave.” Jin brought his hand up to touch her face in return, his eyes dark as he ran a thumb gently over the bruise and gash on her cheekbone. His voice was low and savage. “Who did this to you?”

“They’re dead,” Yuna said.

“Good.” Then he was leaning in to kiss her, almost rough for him, and Yuna melted against him, her hand going to bury itself in his hair. He kissed her deeply for a few moments, basking in the smell and warmth of her, and then withdrew reluctantly to gaze into her eyes.

“How are your wounds?” Yuna asked, one of her hands sliding softly down to his side, hovering over the bandages beneath his _do._

“Such a romantic,” Jin said.

“You’ll get your romance when I make sure you’re not driving yourself into an early grave,” Yuna replied, keeping her voice soft to avoid waking Kabu. She glanced over to see if their talk had disturbed him, but he was still passed out. “What in Diyu are you even doing here?”

“I came to find you.” Jin ran his hand over the shoulder of the armor she wore, looking up at her. “You stole my armor.”

He was amazed to see her blush, blood coming up in her cheeks. She began untying the straps on his _do_ to strip him of his armor.

“I needed it.”

“You could have died.”

Yuna stopped where she was untying a silk rope and glanced into his eyes. “Every day we could die here. I needed to see what the samurai were doing.” She went back to what she was doing. “I apologized once, Jin. I won’t do it again.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Jin whispered. “Just please don’t leave me again. I’ve already lost everyone else. I can’t lose you too. If you go, I’ll only follow.”

Yuna heard the note of desperation in his voice and looked up, leaning in to kiss his lips gently, almost reverently. “I won’t.” She gently pulled the chest-plate and shoulder guards off Jin, and he couldn’t help but sigh to feel them go. It felt like he had been wearing the armor for three days straight, even though it had only been the morning since he followed her. _This has been the longest day of my life._

It felt a little odd to have Yuna taking off his armor, but at the same time he couldn’t help thinking of his mother armoring his father each time he left for battle or the road, first folding his hakama and padding around his body, then placing the chainmail and scale over it. Jin remembered watching it as a child once and sneaking away with his face burning, almost as if he had caught his parents having sex. It seemed so intimate.

He looked over at the boy on the _futon_ as she untied his shin guards. It felt like weeks since Jin had even seen a child who wasn’t already dead, though he knew realistically it hadn’t been more than a few days. The boy’s mouth hung open as he slept, dead to the world.

“Who’s the boy?”

“I found him. In Taishu.” Yuna’s voice was soft as she kneeled at his feet.

“I went through there,” Jin said. “Fought Mongols.”

“So did I.”

Jin felt a breath leave him in a harsh exhale. _She fought them. Alone._ “You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”

She pulled off his second shin-guard, then reached up to pinch his ass. He jumped.

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” she said, gazing up and giving him a considering look before she came back to her feet. Jin turned her in his arms and she let him. He held her from behind as they both regarded the boy, Jin looking over her shoulder.

“They killed them all,” Yuna said. “There was no one left. I had to take him, Jin.”

“What were you supposed to do? Leave him in the snow?” Jin murmured in her ear. “He is one of our people. We protect them all.”

Yuna squeezed his hand where his arms were wrapped around her from the front.

“We should sleep. Rest for tomorrow,” Jin said.

Yuna shook her head. “We can’t. The samurai—”

“—is not coming,” Jin said, his voice quiet and suddenly hard. “I found his sword on the road. It looked like Mongols.” Yuna stiffened under his touch. She turned around and looked at Jin’s face, searching.

“They took him?”

“It seems so. He would not have left the sword behind willingly. There were many Mongol tracks. And blood. No body.”

She shivered a little and leaned into Jin’s chest. He brought his arms up around her, letting her lean into him.

They were both quiet a moment, until Jin spoke again. “We have to get him back.”

Yuna pulled away from him, and he watched her fight to keep her voice from rising as she looked at him with disbelief. “What? _No._ You’re not going to risk your life for some mainlander fool who is only here to kill you. Jin, that’s madness. He chased me, wanted you dead.”

“You know what they’ll do to him,” Jin said, looking at her with a grim expression. “They’ll torture him. Kill him. They’ll do it in a way where he’ll wish for death before it comes.”

“ _Good,”_ Yuna said. “Save us the trouble.”

Jin shook his head. “We cannot leave him to the Mongols. I will not let them take any of our people if I can stop it…. And he is samurai. You saw what they did to Taka,” Jin added, his face softening. “I will not ask you to go. I don’t expect you to understand. But I will not stand by and watch them kidnap and torture any more of my people.”

“Your people,” Yuna repeated. She backed away from him, her eyes suddenly distrustful, and Jin was reminded of a dog that is afraid to be kicked. “Jin, _these_ are your people. The ones who protecting you, and the ones you’re trying to protect. Not the ones who are trying to murder you.”

“Come,” he said, drawing close to her again, his voice soothing. “Please don’t be angry, Yuna. I can’t bear it. I have wanted nothing but to find you since you left. We’ll talk about it in the morning. We’re both tired. Let’s just rest now, and then sleep. He’s no threat to us tonight. Let me help you take this off.” He placed his hands on the Ghost armor. “Thief,” he added, teasing.

“You’re just trying to find favor,” Yuna grumbled as he started undoing the straps of her armor, gently stroking any bare skin he found underneath as if ensuring she was still whole inch by inch. “Before you go off and risk your life again.”

Jin slipped a hand against her throat as he pulled the chest and shoulder armor away, cupping her neck warmly. “Is it working?”

“A little,” she answered, grudging.

Once she was out of the Ghost armor and it was neatly stacked on the floor near the bed, Jin took Yuna’s hand and led her back to the _futon._ Gently, he picked up the sleeping boy and scooted him over to make room. The boy whimpered in his sleep a little but settled back down immediately. Kabu never woke.

Yuna laid back down next to the boy and Jin laid next to her, curling in close to her back and holding her against him as she pulled Kabu gently back in closer to her. Jin pulled the blankets up over all three of them, and a calm silence fell over the room.

Jin laid in the candlelight, watching the back of Yuna’s head, listening to the rise and fall of her breath, feeling her warm weight shift under his arm. Once he was sure that her and the boy were both asleep, he whispered:

“I love you, Yuna.”

**

“So…found your student yet?”

“Would I be in this frozen wasteland if I had?” Ishikawa said to Kenji shortly, staring out into the wintery darkness without looking at the sake seller.

“I don’t know,” Kenji said, tipping up his gourd. “I don’t know you very well.” He held the gourd out to Ishikawa. “Sake?”

Ishikawa looked over at it with a furrowed brow. “No. Ruins the aim.”

Kenji shrugged, withdrawing it.

“I think I’m going to go check on Lord Sakai and Yuna,” Kenji said. _They’ll be warmer company, anyway._

“No, you’re not.”

Kenji looked over at Ishikawa, who broke his eyes from watching the perimeter of the brewery to glance over at Kenji. “Are you an idiot, or do you just pretend to be an idiot? That lovesick fool Sakai chases his woman halfway across the island and you are going to interrupt them half an hour after they meet? Have you ever _had_ a woman?”

Kenji sniffed. “Not sure that’s any business of yours, _sensei.”_

“You take first watch,” Ishikawa said, stalking off. “I’ll be back. I need a meal. Do _not_ go in there.”

“Hmph,” Kenji said in response. He made a mocking, lecturing face at Ishikawa’s back before taking another swallow, glancing down at his bow leaning against the brewery porch before he looked back into the swirling snow, watching for the Mongols.


	20. Yami (Darkness)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hayato is imprisoned by the Mongols.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks as usual for all of your awesome comments and kudos, they are what give me the motivation to push through when I'm not in the mood to write anything. <3 
> 
> This chapter is brought to you by "The Heart of the Darkness" by Sam Tinnesz: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YV7NNzVPDYA
> 
> _Losing time  
>  Without the sun or moon  
> Shadows, they can't even touch the ground  
> The staircase is spiraling deeper down_
> 
> _Here we are in the heart of the darkness  
>  Here we are in the heart of the darkness  
> Hold fast, we must be brave  
> In the heart of the darkness_

Hayato had no idea how long it took them to get to the Mongol base. He ran as long as he could alongside the horses, trying to pretend he was running laps around the temple in full armor with a stick and buckets of millet thrown across his shoulders, Hansuke watching from the porch of the temple with a pipe, his bearded face scowling.

Hayato tried to remember what it was he’d done to be punished—it shouldn’t have been so hard to remember. He wasn’t disobedient or bad-tempered. But whatever it was, it was enough to put Hansuke on the war path. He remembered _that_ part.

Hansuke waited for him to complain or stop running, give up, and Hayato would not stop. On this last run Hayato so spitefully refused to admit defeat that he fainted in the heat instead, millet spilling all over the courtyard, scuffing his armor on the stones. A few words between Hansuke and his father that evening over tea, and the millet runs stopped.

Hayato called on that burning spite now, reaching deep inside himself and fanning the coal of his resentment.

_I came only to help._

He focused on his breath coming in and out as he jogged beside the horses, the hemp of the Mongol noose scratching at his bare throat.

_I only wanted to make my father and Hansuke proud._

The Mongol had pulled his top knot half-loose when he ripped his helmet off, and Hayato’s hair blew back like a black flag as he ran, a white frosted plume from his nose and mouth. The gold-plated armor felt like running in stones. His arm and shoulder screamed with every jolt of his feet against the ground, even though he held his arm against his side as tightly as he could. It at least had the benefit of holding him to the present moment with each wave of pain, refusing to let him drift off.

_I only wanted Aoi to think me worthy._

He didn’t want to think of Aoi. It was too painful, knowing that he would likely never see her again in this life. Who would she marry now? Probably Kaiyō or Riku. He couldn’t say that he loved her—he couldn’t say that about anyone, not _that_ kind of love—but he had known her since childhood, and he was sure she favored him, which was enough. She was passing beautiful, and her laugh was even prettier. She was a good match.

But not now. Now Hayato steeled himself for torture and execution.

 _I lost Hana,_ he thought. He hadn’t noticed until his breath was already whooping in his chest and he could taste blood in his throat that the sword had been left behind. The Mongols didn’t even bother to pick it up. The Mongol took Hayato’s tanto, packing it into his own saddlebags. By the time he realized that they didn’t take the sword, it was too late. The katana was lost somewhere out in the snow and the darkness. Hayato felt its loss like the loss of a limb.

There was no way to tell what time it was—the moon had gone behind a huge bank of storm clouds, and the path was dark. One of the Mongols lit a torch and it danced on the frozen, waving pampas grass as they rode and Hayato continued his death march.

He was wrong about them dragging him. Well… at least wrong about them dragging him to death. At one point in the night his legs simply would not carry him any further and he collapsed like a sack of bricks, the noose around his neck pulling painfully tight.

Instead of dragging him, the young braided Mongol that had captured him got off his horse and came to crouch where Hayato was laying in the snow, his face smashed against the freezing ground.

“Tired? Legs hurt?” The Mongol’s face was hard to read in the darkness. He touched his own leg and then smeared two fingers covered in blood across Hayato’s cheek, causing the samurai to close his eyes and turn away, grimacing slightly at the sensation of the Mongol’s hot blood on his skin. “My leg hurt too.”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Hayato snarled suddenly, not carrying if the decided to drag him. _Drag me, fine. Just be done with it. I’m tired of this farce._

The Mongol just laughed at him. Hayato couldn’t tell if he’d understood the words or not, but he obviously understood the tone. The Mongol leader looked up at the others.

 _“Ter yadarsan,”_ he said, and the others laughed. The braided Mongol picked Hayato up by his hair and he scrambled to his feet to relieve the pressure before it was ripped out by the roots. The Mongol grabbed him by the noose and dragged him over to Kaito. He folded his hands by the horse’s side to form a step and looked at Hayato.

“Get up. Run slow.”

“I can’t ride with my hands tied behind my back.”

The Mongol straightened up and slapped Hayato, hard, putting all his weight behind it. His lip broke from the force and when he brought his head back around to look at the Mongol, blood trickled down his chin in a thin rill. Hayato’s eyes flashed dangerously like a piece of onyx thrown into a fire, but he kept silent.

“Like. Sack.” The Mongol folded his hands at the horse’s side again, raising his eyebrows. Hayato stepped into it and the Mongol hoisted him up, laying him across the saddle like a corpse. Kaito tried to pull his head around to look at him, but the rope at his head prevented it.

The Mongol tied him down to the saddle so he wouldn’t slip off, slinging him over it like a bundle of grain on a mule. Hayato closed his eyes and bore this humiliation as best he could. After all, it wasn’t the first. When he was done, the Mongol clapped Hayato’s bloodied cheek almost cheerfully. _“Ter ni deer.”_

Hayato didn’t answer.

They moved more quickly once he was on horse, and even though the jostling movement of Kaito beneath him was painful, he was relieved that they weren’t going to drag him to death in the snow. Without having to focus on running to keep up with the horses, Hayato found that he was able to think a little more clearly about his situation.

_I am fucked._

Finally able to catch his breath without having to worry about being strangled to death for the entertainment of the raiders, Hayato closed his eyes and tried to the find the reserves of his strength. He closed his eyes and acted like he was already dead, to be used to that way of being in preparation, even though it was impossible with the feel of the cold wind on his face, drying the blood there, the smell of Kaito’s hot flank close to his nose, the pain in his shoulder and fingers.

 _Death at the hands of the enemy is natural. It is the Way._ But no matter how many times he tried to tell himself that, he felt his heart quail at the idea, felt his spirit flail fiercely at it. _It’s not_ fair. _I’ve done everything that was asked._

The group of Mongols moved more quickly once Hayato was horsed, breaking into a canter in the darkness.

**

Hayato had no idea how much time passed between the time the Mongols tied him over his own horse and they arrived at the Mongol stronghold—at some point he drifted into a gray semi-consciousness, the chatter of the Mongolian men shouting at each other over the wind fading into garbled nonsense. He didn’t open his eyes again until the gait of the horses slowed to a leisurely walk, and he saw firelight behind his eyelids.

When he did, he saw where they were.

The Mongols were scattered across the large outpost, and everywhere torches blazed. Hayato smelled cooking meat and grease smoke that made his stomach involuntarily cramp with hunger. Nearby, he could hear a guttural singing—or something that _sounded_ like singing—that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end.

They rode past a line of bamboo cages. Japanese men and women shoved into these stared at the procession from the shadows of the bars, and Hayato managed to catch the eyes of one man, whose eyes widened when he saw that Hayato was in samurai armor. The man opened his mouth as if to say something to Hayato, but before could the war band had moved by.

 _“Bid gertee baina,”_ the braided Mongol shouted, his voice almost crowing with triumph at the laughter of the other men, and Hayato felt the man reach over and slap the back of his thigh where he was slung over the horse. _“Khany ach khüü enkh yuu avchirsnyg kharaarai!”_

Mongol warriors wandered over to the war band as they stopped their horses, dismounting. Hayato gritted his teeth as one of them took a grip of his hair and lifted his head to investigate his face. Eyes narrowed and as black as a shark’s regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain that made Hayato want to try and bite him. The man let his head drop.

 _“Chi samurai khaanaas olson be?”_ the man asked the braided Mongol.

 _“Zam deer dogolj baina,”_ the braided Mongol answered, untying Hayato from the saddle before grabbing the back of his chest plate and unceremoniously dumping him off the horse onto the hard ground. Hayato had the wind knocked out of him and couldn’t help but cry out as the jolt caused a sharp ache to course through his left arm.

“No whine, dog.” The braided Mongol dragged Hayato to his feet and Hayato came to them as easily as he could with both hands tied behind his back. He grabbed the noose around Hayato’s neck from behind and twisted it, tightening it as he shoved the samurai forward.

“Come.” Hayato found himself half-pushed, half-dragged through the Mongol camp. From all around him in the darkness, grim alien faces turned to watch them pass. Hayato looked over his shoulder to try and see where they had led Kaito, but his horse was already lost in the shadows.

The braided Mongol led Hayato to a large yurt, heavily decorated with banners and furs. A guard outside the door saw him coming and lifted the flap, speaking to someone inside, before waving the man and Hayato forward. The other Mongols in the war band followed him closely on either side, ready to jump in and beat him down if he resisted.

The largest man Hayato had ever seen was seated on a large wooden throne inside the yurt that was thick with stolen furs. He was decked in gold armor that mirrored Hayato’s own. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, but a gold helm rested on the floor beside his seat. The man was holding a bone goblet when they entered but sat it down as he saw Hayato. At his feet, a great shaggy black dog was sprawled. It got to its feet warily as the warriors entered, eyes shining like drops of oil as they watched Hayato, sharp snow-white teeth flashing in a panting mouth.

The braided Mongol moved Hayato to the center of the yurt, in front of the large man’s throne, and kicked the samurai’s legs out from under him, driving him to his knees.

“You _kneel._ ”

The Mongol general looked at Hayato, then at the braided Mongol, who spoke a rush of Mongolian to the man, too many words for Hayato to even try to keep up with. At one point, he gestured to the wound on his leg. The Mongolian general nodded at the warrior, then looked back at Hayato.

“What is name?”

Hayato was silent, lowering his head with a frozen mask of resolve on his face.

The braided Mongol backhanded him hard in the side of the head, sending him sprawling to the floor of the yurt. The dog at the general’s feet snarled in surprise and snapped at him.

“ _Dog! Answer!”_ The braided Mongol grabbed a torch that was mounted on a floor sconce and wielded it at Hayato threateningly. Hayato felt the heat of the flame sear the skin of his face lightly, the fire filling his vision.

“Enkh,” the general said, quietly.

Chastened, the braided Mongol backed off and put the torch back on the sconce, but he did it while glaring at Hayato. Hayato straightened up, watching Enkh warily.

The general looked at the samurai again. “What. Is. Name? I am saying correctly, yes?”

“Hayato Mori,” Hayato finally answered, his voice soft.

The general brightened. “Ah. Good. Is start. You have met my son, Enkh. I am Bartu. You forgive my Japanese.”

 _I forgive you nothing._ Hayato simply looked up at the man in silence.

“What are you doing here, Hayato Mori? We only know of one samurai in these lands.” General Bartu looked him up and down, calculating. “He is not you.”

“I’m here for the Ghost.”

General Bartu laughed, looking at Enkh. _“Ta üüniig sonsoj baina uu? ööriin khümüüs ni khürtel tüüniig agnadag.”_ The young Mongol chuckled back.

Bartu turned back to Hayato. “My son says you do not want death. Is strange for samurai,” he added, his growling voice taking on a curious tone.

Hayato didn’t answer, but he felt his face fill with hot blood. _I should have killed myself as soon as they sent me here._

“No,” he whispered.

“My son does not want to kill you. He says you useful. Brave heart. Strong sword. You useful?”

Hayato was silent.

General Bartu looked at him hard, then spoke to Enkh. The two conversed for a moment, and then General Bartu looked at him again.

“You will swear your sword to the Great Peace, or you die. You should thank Enkh for the choice. I would have killed.” The Mongolian general glowered at him. “Still may. You choose. Go think on it.” He waved his gauntleted hand and took up his goblet again.

Enkh took that as his leave and pulled Hayato back to his feet, dragging him back out of the yurt as his men followed at his heels.

As soon as they were outside, the braided Mongol fetched Hayato another hard blow to the back of the head. “ _Teneg._ You want die after all? General ask question, you _answer._ ”

When Hayato didn’t say anything, Enkh slapped him again as he dragged him along, making the broken bones in Hayato’s shoulder howl. “You practice with me.”

“No, I don’t want to die,” Hayato whispered.

“Good. Is start.” Enkh led him to an empty bamboo cage, then moved to untie his hands. Hayato felt the sharp point of a blade against his lower back, pricking blood in the skin at his waist. “One move… you die,” Enkh warned.

Hayato stood still, unable to feel anything but relief as his hands dropped to his sides, blood flow returning to them with a painful tingle. He stiffened as he felt the Mongol beginning to untie the silk cords on his _do._

“What are you doing?” he asked, unable to help himself.

“Is mine now.” Enkh stripped him of the armor piece by piece, dropping it into the snow, while one of his men held a blade on Hayato, and Hayato—at a loss to do anything else—let him. The Mongolian warrior laid him bare down to his filthy white hakama and shitagi, then shoved him into the cage, locking the door behind him.

The Mongol gathered up Hayato’s armor, looking at the samurai over the glimmering bundle of gold-plated metal in his arms.

“You make hard. Is not hard. This mine. _You_ mine. No follow? Die. Think about it. Could have bed, food, gold, woman, sword. But you kneel."

Without giving Hayato a chance to answer, Enkh turned on his heel, one of the other Mongolian warriors casting a last sneer at Hayato before turning his back and following.

Hayato backed into the shadows of the cage until he found the corner and slid down the hard bamboo bars until he was sitting on damp, cold earth. Without the pressure of him being dragged around or flung over the back of a horse, the pain in his shoulder had dampened to a low insistent throb.

With his hands free, he was able to pull back the collar of his hakama gingerly to inspect the damage. He reached down with stiff fingers and felt the hard knob of his broken clavicle pressing against the swollen skin there. He hissed in a breath.

 _Doesn’t matter that I can’t hold a sword,_ he thought, sighing and closing his eyes. He reached up with his right hand and pulled his falling top knot loose, letting his hair fall down around his head. Without good use of both hands, he couldn’t tie it up again anyway.

 _It’s gone. Everything._ He listened to the low weeping of a woman nearby, the sound deep and wrenching. He wanted to go to the cage bars and tell her that everything would be all right, to comfort her tears and quiet her before her noises drew the Mongols down on her, but he didn’t know how to comfort her. He couldn’t even comfort himself.

He flinched as a shadow fell over the cage again, but it was the general’s son again. Enkh had a bowl of hot roasted meat chunks, dripping with fat, and a goblet of clean snowmelt.

Hayato looked at him like he was insane.

Enkh scowled at him. “Is deer. Eat.” He opened the cage door and placed the bowl of meat and cold water down, then closed it again, as if he was afraid Hayato was a half-tamed bear that might charge the bars and bolt.

The smell of the roasted meat made his mouth fill with water, the heat of it steaming the air of the cage with savory white smoke. But Hayato couldn’t help but think of the deer at Nara, the way they would rest their head in your hand, dark eyes trusting and still as black pools. He shook his head. He looked at the braided Mongol.

“These are sacred animals.”

Enkh scowled at him, as if trying to figure out what he meant, then shook his head as if giving up on the idea. “Taste good. _Eat."_

Before Hayato had a chance to ask the Mongolian warrior why he was being kind to him, or why the Mongol had spared him at all, Enkh left again, muttering to himself.

Hayato waited until he was gone to grab the goblet of water, drinking half of it in a go with desperate swallows. He made himself save the rest, not knowing the next time he would get a drink. He ignored the roasted venison despite his hunger. He knew it would taste only of death. And surrender.

He laid back against the cold bars and closed his eyes, the Mongol’s words echoing in his mind.

_Could have bed, food, gold, woman, sword. But you kneel._

_Think about it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ter yadarsan_ – He is tired
> 
>  _Ter ni deer_ – That’s better
> 
>  _Bid gertee baina_ – We’re home
> 
>  _Khany ach khüü enkh yuu avchirsnyg kharaarai!_ \- Look what Enkh, the great-grandson of the Khan, has brought!
> 
>  _Chi samurai khaanaas olson be?_ Where did you find the samurai?
> 
>  _Zam deer dogolj baina_ Limping on the road
> 
>  _Ta üüniig sonsoj baina uu? ööriin khümüüs ni khürtel tüüniig agnadag_ – Do you hear that? Even his own people hunt him
> 
>  _Teneg_ \- Fool


	21. Yoake (Dawn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin, Kenji, Yuna, and Ishikawa make their plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting you guys, I keep writing this for you! <3 
> 
> This chapter brought to you by "Never Surrender" by Liv Ash: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HRdSrgcoymc
> 
> _Oh our hearts are unafraid  
>  We're making our own fate  
> We don't need to wait  
> We're a phoenix rising  
> From the ashes fighting  
> Our courage climbing  
> We'll never we'll never surrender_
> 
> _This is our battle  
>  Won't stay in the shadows now  
> Living for tomorrow  
> We'll never never surrender  
> Walking through fire  
> Will leave us stronger_

Jin awoke from a deep, dreamless, exhausted sleep to dark eyes staring down at him a few feet from his face, and he jumped for a moment, hand jerking to his waist for a tanto that was not there before he stilled.  
  
But it was only the little boy, standing over his bedroom, looking down at him. The boy didn’t cry out or startle, only looked down at him from a pale round face with a serious expression.

“Go bathroom.”  
  
“Oh. _Oh._ ” Jin came up on his elbows and leaned over Yuna, trying to peer into her face. She was dead to the world, snoring softly with her head under the blanket, one lax hand extended palm-up on the tatami mat. He resisted the urge to grab it. _I’ll let her sleep._ He looked at the slotted brewery window—it was still dark outside with no moon, no way to tell the time.

Carefully Jin skinned himself out of the warm blankets and stood up, being sure not to jostle Yuna as he did. He folded the blanket back around her to trap the heat in so she wouldn’t be cold without him, then leaned down and picked the toddler up.  
  
He half-expected the boy to scream in protest or writhe to get away from him, but the toddler only leaned against his chest, pressed his cheek against the front of Jin’s kimono and putting his thumb in his mouth. Jin straightened up with the boy in his arms and carefully climbed down the ladder with him in one arm.

Kenji was sleeping on a tatami mat near the doorway of the brewery, but he stirred when he heard the ladder creaking and Jin coming down. Jin turned away from the ladder to find the sake seller watching him silently.

“Kenji,” he whispered. “What time is it?”

“Close to dawn, I think,” Kenji said, dragging out a huge luxurious stretch. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, then looked up at where Jin was carrying Kabu as he sat up. “I like your apprentice. He’s a little short, though.”

Jin gave the sake seller a wan smile at the joke, but his heart was troubled as he felt the warm weight of the child in his arms. _He shouldn’t be here._ He hiked the boy up in his arms, carrying him across to the door of the brewery. “I’ll be back. Need to take him to the bathroom.”

He walked out onto the porch of the brewery, looking out over the cold white snow. For a change, the storm had slacked off and only light flurries dusted the air. Ishikawa was leaning over the rail, still in full armor, his bow leaned against it. He turned over his shoulder to look at Jin when he walked out, his eyes moving to the boy.

“I take it you don’t approve?” Jin asked.

“Since when have you looked to my approval before doing anything?” Ishikawa said. “Didn’t know you were so paternal. What with you putting off marriage so long.”

Jin bristled slightly at the implication—he knew that Ishikawa was referring to Ryuzo—but didn’t let the impatience show on his face. _You’re one to talk, sensei. I don’t see you with a wife._ “You’re one to judge,” Jin said, carrying the toddler down the brewery steps. “You took in Tomoe.”

“Not the same,” Ishikawa said to Jin’s back as he walked away, stepping through the snow towards the pit toilets of the brewery. “Tomoe came housebroken. And a killer.”

 _And see how that worked out for you,_ Jin thought, but had the self-preservation to keep to himself.

He took the little boy to the pit toilets and let him do his business, then used them himself. He was relieved that the boy hadn’t messed his _jinbei._ He didn’t know of any spare clothing that would fit him, and it was too cold for the boy to go bare.

When he was done, he stared down at the boy with a solemn expression, and the boy stared back up at him.

“What are we going to do with you?” Jin said softly.

The boy didn’t answer, only held his arms up. Shaking his head, Jin picked him back up, smelling the smoke and earth on his skin as the boy snuggled against his chest, the boy’s dirty hair close to his face. He carried him back across the brewery courtyard to the porch. He could see now that he was outside that Kenji was right—even though there was no moon, the first tentative light of dawn was starting to brighten the sky in the east. Jin’s stomach growled and he remembered that they hadn’t had anything to eat the evening before. _We’ll need breakfast. The boy will want something._

Ishikawa watched him walk back up, the archer’s face a stoic mask as he looked at them. Jin wanted to put the boy down—the weight of carrying him caused his wounds to ache—but there was too much snow on the porch. He opened the brewery door and saw where Kenji was going through his packs.

“Kenji, can you watch him for just a moment? I need to talk to Ishikawa. It’s too cold outside for him.”

“Yes, my lord.” He turned from his packs and reached up for the boy, smiling, and Jin lowered him into Kenji’s arms. “I might have something in here that can keep this one occupied for a little.”

“Thank you, Kenji. I promise, I won’t saddle you with him for long.”

“Nonsense Lord Sakai, we’ll be thick as thieves,” Kenji said, letting the toddler wrap a hand around his finger and wiggling it, making a face at him.

Jin walked back out onto the porch in the pre-dawn darkness and headed back to where Ishikawa guarded the darkness. He brushed snow off the railing of the porch and leaned on it next to the archer, following his gaze.

“That boy will be a burden,” Ishikawa said.

“No more a burden than any of these other people I protect,” Jin replied. But even as he said he and listened to the cheerful sound of Kenji chattering to the toddler through the door of the brewery in the stillness, muffled under the sound of the wind, he felt troubled.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want children. But he had already resigned himself to the fact that he—all of them—were likely on borrowed time. As much as he would like to run away into the mountains and watch Yuna bear his sons, as Kenji put it, he didn’t think it was realistic. He hadn’t planned for it. The way things were going, he didn't feel like he could plan for anything. 

And now this.

“You know what I mean, Sakai,” Ishikawa said, his voice taking on that _don’t be an idiot_ tone that Jin was familiar with from childhood. “You saw Yuna with him.”

Jin sighed. “Speak plainly, _sensei._ It’s too early for riddles.”

Ishikawa turned away from the brewery yard to look at him, his face guarded and serious. “How long do you think it will take them to send samurai up here? And what do you think will happen to the boy if they do?”

“Samurai don’t murder children.” But even as he said it, that feeling of disquiet in Jin’s heart deepened. “They object to the murder of Mongols. They imprisoned me for it.”

“Your woman told me that samurai chased her, knowing she had him. You think it sounds like they care whether he lives or dies, as long as they get to you?”

 _The samurai._ Jin thought of the katana wrapped and tied to Kenji’s horse. “The Mongols took him.”

“Good,” Ishikawa said. “Saves us the trouble.”

 _You and Yuna are two spoons in a bowl._ Jin scowled at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know what they’ll do to him, _sensei_. And I’m sick of these bastards taking people off the road. Who knows what other people they’ve taken? No. It has to end.”

“You can’t save everyone.” Ishikawa turned back towards the darkness. “You sound like your father, you know.”

The remark took Jin aback. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard anyone mention Kazumasa other than his uncle since he was murdered. He swallowed and turned away from Ishikawa, eyes on the southern horizon.

“No one has ever told me that before. Except Yuriko.” _You have your father’s laugh._

“That’s because people are cowards who don’t want a dead man’s name in their mouth.” Ishikawa straightened up. “Come. Let’s go inside. It’s too cold for Mongols. We’ve watched for them all night and there’s no sign, I’m ready for a fire.” Without waiting for Jin to answer, Ishikawa walked past him and back into the brewery. Jin followed him in.

Inside, Kenji was boiling water his cooker over the hearth fire, and the boy was sitting in the middle of the floor, gumming a slice of kiwi. He looked up brightly when the two men walked in, juice and black seeds dripping off his chin.

“Kenji, you had fruit? You’ve been holding out on me,” Jin said, sitting cross-legged in the floor next to the boy.

“It was sort of frozen on the road. Now that it’s melting it's mushy. But he doesn’t seem to mind.” Kenji examined the pot to check the heat of the water. “I think mushy is his preference, actually.”

“I’m just glad you had something for him,” Jin replied, thinking for the first time that he had never even been around a baby before, not really. He didn’t even know what the boy could reasonably eat, though he seemed to be enjoying the sliced kiwi well enough.

Ishikawa went over to his own belongings and grabbed a gourd of water, settling alongside Jin to drink it as he watched the fire.

“I’m attacking that Mongol camp.”

Ishikawa closed his eyes.

Before he could answer, they heard a creaking and turned to see Yuna climbing down the ladder, her face relaxed with sleep. Jin saw the way her hair had fallen around her shoulders and felt a sharp stab of affection that was almost like a pain.

Kenji’s words came back to haunt him. _If you’re not a lovestruck fool, you can at least stop acting like one._

“Good morning,” he said to her as she sat down next to him, rubbing the sleep from her face. “Good morning. Why are you up so early?” she replied, yawning. “You should have woke me.”

“Your new boyfriend woke me up. What’s his name?”

Yuna made a soft scoffing sound at his joke. “No one alive to tell me,” she replied, unsmiling. “I’ve been calling him Kabu.” She moved to Kenji’s pack as if it was her own and she knew where things were already, withdrawing cups for tea. She poured some of the boiling water out of the cooker and added some handfuls of loose-leaf dried tea to each cup, the leaves uncurling and darkening the water as they seeped. She passed the cups around silently before adding dried rice to the water on the fire.

 _Not a morning person,_ Jin thought, and bowed his head in thanks to her to suppress a small smile.

“Turnip?” Ishikawa said. “That’s a name that will turn him into a fighter. If only to beat off all of the other children who ridicule him.”

“I think it suits him. He looks like a turnip,” Kenji said.

“About as useful as one too.”

“He’s a _baby,_ ” Yuna said to Ishikawa hotly. “He doesn’t have to have a use.”

The three warriors and the sake seller sat silently a minute, contemplating the toddler. He just smiled around the fist full of kiwi in his mouth, watching Yuna.

“I’m attacking the Mongol camp,” Jin repeated, looking at Yuna. “I need to get eyes on it first, but I think that it’s best we do it at night. An ambush.”

“I think it’s best we not do it at all,” Yuna said, brow furrowed. “You’re injured. We can’t afford the risk. And you need your bandages changed,” she added. “Doesn’t matter how many people you want to fight if you die of infection.”

“I’m starting to feel better,” Jin said, taking a swallow of the black tea, and to his surprise it was actually sort of true. While his wounds still pained him, he didn’t feel as weak or as feverish as before.

“So you immediately want to go on a suicide run? Brilliant, Jin.” Yuna shook her head, visibly frustrated. “You’re just now starting to creep from death’s door and your first instinct is to go crawling back. I think you want death sometimes,” she added, softer.

Jin looked at her. “What if it was Taka in there, at the hands of the Mongols? Wouldn’t you want someone to try and save him?”

“It’s _not_ Taka. It’s just some pigheaded mainlander boy who thinks he’s strong enough to kill you singlehandedly. He’s a fool.”

“There could be others. There probably _are_ others. Not just the samurai.”

“He threatened to kill me, Jin,” Yuna said, quietly.

Jin looked into her face silently for a moment, his expression grim. “You want him dead then?” _Because if you ask it… I will have no choice._

She held his gaze, resolute, then finally broke it, sighing. “No. I… I think he means well. He’s just an idiot.”

“You could have said the same thing about me, the first time we met,” Jin pointed out.

“She could say the same thing about you now,” Ishikawa said. He sipped his tea, then looked at all three of them, his voice rough. “If we want to keep the people safe, we have to finish driving them out. Sakai is right there. Otherwise we won’t be able to travel without having to worry about them every time we’re on the road. And the peasants? Helpless. The people in Morimae are terrified to leave, even for supplies. Half the people who go out don’t return.”

“Then you’ll help me?” Jin said.

Ishikawa nodded. “I’ll lend you my bow, for the times you lent me your katana. But you must promise that we return to the search for Tomoe.”

“We may find her with the Mongols,” Jin said.

“I doubt it. From what I can tell, she has been running her own regiment.” Ishikawa looked back into the fire. “Half of the people I have found out here have been arrow-struck. She hasn’t stopped hunting yet. Which means I can’t stop hunting her. And neither can you, Sakai, if you’re serious about protecting these people.”

“I gave you my word, and I’ll keep it,” Jin said. He looked at Yuna, who was staring into the fire, her face a guarded mask. “You don’t have to go,” he told her. “I’ll come straight back.”

She turned back to him, scowling. “If you think I am going to let you go out there alone, you really _are_ an idiot. I’m just as capable of killing Mongols as you are.”

“I know that,” Jin said. “I have never doubted you. _Any_ of you,” he added, looking around at them.

“I’ll come too,” Kenji said.

Jin shook his head. “No, Kenji. I need you to stay and watch the boy.”

Kenji looked crestfallen. “How come _I’m_ the one who gets stuck with the woman’s work? I have a bow too.” Kabu stood up and waddled over to him and Kenji pulled the boy onto his lap, wincing as the boy tried to swipe the slobbery piece of kiwi he was chewing on against the side of Kenji’s face.

Ishikawa made a scoffing sound.

“Don’t laugh,” Jin said. “Kenji took two of the Mongols himself on the way here. Yuna was a good teacher to him.” He turned to Kenji. “But I don’t want you any closer to a fight than I have to keep you, my friend. Leave war to the warriors. You’re at a brewery. This is your place.” 

“You’re the best with children,” Yuna said to him. “You were always good with Taka. And we’ll need someone who can use a bow well to watch the brewery while we’re gone. In case the Mongols come.”

“Only because you couldn’t pickpocket and watch a child at the same time,” Kenji grumbled, but laid a hand on the boy’s head, stroking his hair. “I’ll watch him. For you, Yuna.” He looked at Jin with a serious expression. “And I will do my best to protect the others. I swear.”

“Thank you. I know you will. You’ve saved my life more than once.”

Yuna sighed, looking to Jin. “So, we’re really going to do this?”

“I want to scout it out first,” Jin said. “Ishikawa and Kenji can stay here, protect the brewery and the refugees. You and I will backtrack to where they took the samurai and see if we can pick up the trail. The snow slacked off, hopefully the prints won’t be too hard to see.”

“I still think it’s madness,” Yuna said, moving next to Jin and going to untie the front of his kimono. He stiffened to be undressed in front of Kenji and Ishikawa, suddenly feeling a bout of shyness, but he let her do it anyway.

Kenji sucked in an appreciative breath at the patchwork of ugly bruises on the former samurai’s side, the stitched swollen cuts in his flesh as Yuna pulled away the old oak leaf poultice. “Lord Sakai, you’re lucky that Lord Shimura didn’t kill you.”

 _I don’t know if I’d say that_ , Jin thought. He watched Yuna as she was bent over next to him, gently untying the bloodied bandages that were wrapped around his torso and pulling down the one that was wrapped around the cut on his head. “Do you have more bandages, Kenji?”

“In the bag.” Yuna stood and moved to get them before sitting back down, wrapping Jin’s head carefully before moving back down to his torso to bind his wounds again.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed with that,” Ishikawa said to Jin, looking at the deepest wound in his side before she covered it with fresh clean cloth. The swelling around the wound had gone down and there was no pus oozing from it, but the edges of the cut were red and angry looking. 

“Not like I have a choice.” 

“No,” Ishikawa said, but he searched Jin’s face hard. “Are you sure you want to do this? You could wait until you’re healed. The samurai will keep. And if he doesn’t…” Ishikawa shrugged. “It is his fate. Same as it would be for anyone caught.”

Jin shook his head. “No. You’ve seen what they do. I can’t rest knowing that he’s been taken alive. He’s one of us, Ishikawa.”

“ _You’re_ not one of us,” Ishikawa pointed out, harshly. “And I think that it’s high time you came to terms with that, Sakai. You’re risking your life for a man who wants you dead. Your woman calls you a fool because you’re acting like one. If you free him, you’ll be forced to kill him yourself.”

“He could be useful,” Jin said, turning to him. “I told you once that Tomoe’s bow could be ours, if she could be turned. This man is a samurai. He’ll be loyal to the people.”

“Not to _us,”_ Ishikawa said.

“You don’t know that.”

“And neither do you.”

“There’s no point in arguing over it until he’s our captive and not theirs,” Jin said, drinking his tea to drive down the lump of frustration in his throat.

“What, having to strike down the ronin wasn’t enough for you?” Ishikawa said. “The man is your sworn enemy. We should free the others, kill the samurai and be done with it.”

 _“Enough,”_ Jin said, the hard tone in his voice causing Kenji to flinch slightly. Jin looked at Ishikawa with a dangerous expression. “Don’t mention Ryuzo again. You don’t know about that. I’m tired of people acting like they do.”

Ishikawa started to open his mouth to speak and then closed it, bringing his cup to it instead.

Jin looked around at them. “I said I wouldn’t let any more of our people die, not if I can help it. _Any_ of them. And I meant what I said. If you won’t come with me, that’s fine. I won’t ask anyone else to risk their life for mine. I’ll go alone.”

“Like hell you will,” Yuna said.

Silence fell on the room, and there was no sound except Kabu’s chewing and the sound of a knot bursting in the fireplace.

“We’re with you, Sakai,” Ishikawa replied finally, turning away from Jin’s resolute expression to gaze into the flames. “To the end. Just don’t make us regret it.”

Kenji moved Kabu off his lap to check the rice and the warriors sat in a grim silence, watching the baby play with the bloodied bandages on the floor between them, listening to the wind howl around the eaves like a demon.


	22. Kowareta (Broken)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hayato meets the demon archer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soldier keep on marchin' on  
>  Head down 'til the work is done  
> Waiting on that morning sun  
> Soldier keep on marchin' on_
> 
> _Head in the dust, feet in the fire  
>  Labour on that midnight wire  
> Listening for that angel choir  
> You got nowhere to run._ \- "Soldier", Fleurie

At some point in the night, Hayato dozed off or fainted—he didn’t remember drifting off, only awoke abruptly to see that a frigid dawn had come, leaving his bare hands stiff with the cold, the bruised right one swollen into a tight claw where Enkh had kicked the hilt of his sword from it. He opened his eyes.

 _Still alive._ It wasn’t as if he expected to die—his wounds weren’t mortal ones—but he couldn’t help but be mildly disappointed he hadn’t frozen to death in his sleep. That, at least, would have been preferable to any number of tortures the Mongols could come up with. From what he had heard, they were an inventive bunch.

He was surprised to find Enkh sitting cross-legged in front of his cage, watching him with a scowl. Hayato felt a hot surge of indignation and rage when he saw that the Mongol was wearing his father’s armor. He even wore the helmet and half-mask. The pink early morning light glittered off the pauldron scales.

 _Mongol dog._ Hayato narrowed his eyes at the man, silently.

“No eat.” Enkh shook his head. “I try help you. My father…he thinks you should die. He laughs at me. Maybe right. Maybe waste time.”

Hayato just scowled back at him.

Enkh made a disgusted sound and stood, drawing his curved sword. He opened the cage. Hayato steeled himself, looking into the Mongol's eyes and waiting for the blade to fall, but Enkh only grabbed the bowl of cold venison with his free hand and withdrew, locking the cage again behind him. He shook his head at Hayato, then slung the pieces of meat through the cage door of the cage next to Hayato’s. Hayato looked over and saw the peasants in the cage scrabbling for the meat, stuffing it in their mouths desperately. 

“You idiot,” Enkh said, looking down into Hayato’s face a moment. Then he walked away.

He had left the half-full cup of water and Hayato drained it off, putting it back in the corner.

 _I probably am,_ Hayato thought. 

“You’re a samurai.”

He turned from where he was lying back against the bamboo bars to look into the cage beside him. He had thought about throwing the meat over there himself earlier, seeing the peasants staring at it with obvious longing, but the bars were too close together—it wouldn’t have gone through, would have been wasted in the snow and the mud.

One of the men was up against the bars, looking at him out of a face gaunt with starvation. His clothes were so sodden with mud and other filth that there was no telling their original color.

“Yes.”

“Are the rest coming?” the man whispered, his eyes darting to the area around the cages to make sure none of the Mongols could hear him. There were a few other men in the cage with him, so close they had to stand shoulder to shoulder. Hayato thought suddenly of livestock, chickens stuffed into cages for market, and felt sick.

Hayato closed his eyes and shook his head. “Nobody’s coming.” _Not in time to save us._ He had only been gone from Castle Shimura for a few days. It would be a week or so before they even considered giving him up for lost. They would be dead or slaves by then.

“Why?” the man asked, pleading.

_Because this is a frozen pit, and you have nothing they want._

Hayato stood at the front of the cage and checked to make sure there were no Mongols near, then started kicking hard at the bamboo bars at the back of his cage, holding his broken arm against his chest. But the cages were well-constructed, with bars wider than a man’s fist, and they didn’t budge. Every jolt sent a shot of agony through his shoulder, and he gave up, glaring at the bamboo, small beads of pain sweat standing out on his forehead like opals.

“ _Stop it,_ for gods’ sake,” the man in the cage next to him moaned. “You’ll bring them over. They’ve burned two already.”

“No one is coming,” Hayato hissed at him, his voice low. “We have to find a way out. We can’t just sit here and wait to die.”

“There is no way out,” the man whispered back. “Don’t you think people have tried?”

A huge Mongol walked by and banged on the cage, making him jump and making the bamboo bars clatter. _“Duugaa khuraa!”_ he shouted, raising his fist in a threat. The peasants cowered at the back of their cage, covering their faces.

  
Hayato followed his lead and moved to the back of his own cage, averting his eyes when the Mongol passed by. After he was gone, Hayato sat back down.

Hours passed, though Hayato had no real way to tell what time it was. Gray storm clouds filled the sky, obscuring the sun. He leaned back against the bamboo bars and stared through the bars on the top of the cage, watching the clouds race across the sky as if they were fleeing the island. What little morning sun had broken through was gone.

At one point, the Mongols opened one of the cages further down the row and dragged a woman out of them. Hayato thought it was the woman who had been crying in the night. She wailed as they dragged her by a handful of her hair, her knees dragging through the mud and snow.

Hayato surged to his feet despite himself, banging the flat of his palm on the bamboo bars even though it caused his bruised fingers to scream.

_“Hey! Stop it! Leave her alone!”_

The Mongols circling the woman looked up at the sound of his voice. One of them walked over to Hayato’s cage.

“You want?” the man growled. “Bet _you_ scream like woman.”

“I want you to _try_ it,” Hayato whispered back.

The Mongol moved to unlock the cage and Hayato drew into himself like a cat preparing to hit a patch of grass with a mouse concealed in it. He trained his eyes on the man’s sword.

_I just need to get it away from him. And if I can’t…at least it might be quick._

“ _Ai!”_

Enkh came running up. He spoke heatedly to the other Mongol in a rush, gesturing, and the other Mongol grumbled a few words in response before he shot Hayato a look and stalked back off towards the crying woman. Enkh cocked his head at Hayato, looking at him as if he couldn’t quite figure him out.

“Nice try.”

The Mongol general’s son winked at him and wandered off.

**

A freezing, merciless wind that threatened sleet whipped through the camp, causing the Mongols to stomp and curse, blowing their hands. The peasants in the cage next to him huddled together for warmth. Hayato shared his cage with no one so he curled into a ball, staying as warm as he could. There was a fire near the cages, and a few Mongols gathered around it to burn meat on sticks over the flames and drink their curdled horse milk. The fire wasn’t close enough to warm the prisoners, just close enough to envy.

There was a commotion in the camp and Hayato looked in its direction. A group of archers rode in on horseback, and Hayato was shocked to see that a woman in a Japanese _kitsune_ mask rode with them. Dressed in Japanese clothing but wearing Mongolian armor over it.

_Who is she?_

The woman dismounted with the others, chattering in Mongolian. The group of archers walked together past the cages, and the woman stopped in front of Hayato’s, looking at him. Hayato saw her black eyes glinting like polished stones behind the fox mask.

“You’re not a village peasant,” she said. _She’s Japanese._

“How would you know, traitor?” Hayato said.

The woman laughed a little, and the sound was like sharp tinkling bells. “Because you’re the only one in those cages who is angry and not afraid. You must be the samurai that Enkh took. The one he wants to keep, they said.”

“I am not a dog to be kept,” Hayato snarled.

The woman came closer to the bars. If they were wide enough to stick his hand through, he could reach through them and grab her throat. He imagined what they would do if he did, pulled her face against the bars until the mask cracked. They would drag him out, and that would be the end of it. All the waiting for death. He felt like he had been waiting for death for a month.

She kept her voice low, so low that anyone walking by would have to strain to hear.

“You should take his offer. It’s the only way you live through this.” She crouched down to meet him at eye level. “Ask me how I know.”

“I can see how you know,” Hayato said, and turned away from her.

The woman crossed her arms over the bars and stared at Hayato from beneath her mask. “This act you’re putting on? The defiant captive act? The honorable fallen warrior? You’re wasting your breath. They won’t respect you for it and nobody here cares. You’re better off giving it up. Enkh isn’t that bad. Not as bad as some things.”

Hayato cut his eyes at her. “Is that what you tell yourself? So you can sleep?”

“Judge me if you want,” the woman said, her voice calm and sure. “But I will sleep in a yurt tonight, under furs. I’ll have hot food and strong drink and even a man, if I want one.”

“You _would_ lay with one of them. And I do judge you for it.”

“I don’t care,” the woman said. “It means nothing to me. I saw the armor Enkh took off you, samurai. You don’t know what it’s like to grow up with nothing. You couldn’t dream of it. You don’t know what it’s like to go from nothing to everything you could want.”

Hayato swallowed hard to stifle the tears that wanted to rise in his throat, feeling all his frustration and anger and sorrow welling up at once. He turned to face her again, his voice low and savage. “What do you know about it? What could you _possibly_ know? I’m not even supposed to _be_ here. You think I asked for this?”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” she said. “Mongols own most of the world now, including this island. They put you in the cage. But you’re the one with the key to open it. All you must do is kneel. And mean it. It’s the only way to survive.”

“Mongols no longer control Toyotama or Izuhara.”

“Not yet,” the woman said. “But they will again. And the mainland, too. The Mongols are a dragon with a hundred heads. Khotun was not the last.”

At the mention of the mainland, Hayato felt cold all over. He thought of the devastation in Kin, the great tree burned to a smoldering stump, the corpses left to swell in the weak autumn sun. He thought of the temples in Nara burning to the ground, the sacred deer ran to death by Mongol hunting parties.

“I won’t let them,” Hayato whispered. 

“You won’t stop them from in there,” she replied. “You won’t stop them without a sword. If you take my meaning.”

“How could you work for them?” Hayato said, his voice still soft. “How could you lay under one, knowing what they did? What they’ve done to your _people?_ ”

“Like the samurai are so pure.” There was pure venom in the woman’s voice.

 _“Tomoe!”_ She looked up at the sound of the call, turning over her shoulder to see who had shouted, then looked back at him.

“Don’t die for your honor.”

Hayato just stared at her, shaken, and she leaned back, standing.

“Think about it, _evdersen._ Since you have the time. That’s what they call you now. That’s your name. Broken.”

Before he could answer, she turned and walked away from the cages. Hayato watched the shapely, feminine form of her body sway as she walked away, and he saw that a few passing Mongol men stopped to watch her too.

_Honor is all I have left._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> evdersen - broken
> 
> Duugaa khuraa - shut the fuck up
> 
> Hayato: I'M NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO *BE* HERE TODAY https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zD8K6P7Mq9g


	23. Nokori (Rest)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin and Yuna take a detour on their scouting mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much for the kind comments and suggestions and kudos. I appreciate you guys so much for continuing to follow along with this story! Also extra thanks to the lovely 2kimi2furious for letting me use some of her backstory for Yuna in Orphans. <3 Sorry it took me a bit longer to get this chapter out, it is quite a bit longer than the last one and the next one will likely be pretty long too. 
> 
> This chapter brought to you by "Chasing Cars" from Snow Patrol: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GemKqzILV4w
> 
>   
> _We'll do it all  
>  Everything  
> On our own  
> We don't need  
> Anything  
> Or anyone_
> 
> _If I lay here  
>  If I just lay here  
> Would you lie with me and just forget the world?_

“I want you to wear the armor.”

Yuna looked at the neatly stacked pile of Ghost armor where it was sitting amongst their collective belongings. She had already helped strap Jin into the Sakai armor—he was capable of doing it himself, but it was always easier with help.

“Are you sure?” she said, looking torn. “Jin… I only wore it as a disguise. I’m sorry I took it from you, but I wanted the samurai to think you were as far from Jogaku as possible. I needed it.”

“I know, and I’m not upset,” Jin said. “But we’re going into danger, and I have the Sakai armor. I’d feel better knowing you have armor too.” He smiled at her and tipped her a wink. “I didn’t say I want you to _have_ it. I said I want you to _wear_ it.”

She walked over to the armor and kneeled to pick it up. “If you’re sure.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t. Please. At least until we can get you your own.”

Yuna stilled where she was picking up the chest plate. She looked up at him. _My own armor?_ She hadn’t really thought about it. The decision to take Jin’s had been blind impulse, one she almost hadn’t followed.

But Jin’s words had deeper meaning, Yuna realized. They meant that he expected there to be more fighting. Fighting she would be a part of too. This would be more than a few weeks… maybe more than a few months.

_It will be the rest of our lives. However short they are._

“I’ll wear it,” she said.

**

When they were ready, they came back down the ladder. Kenji was sitting in the floor sponging kiwi juice off Kabu’s face and hands with a damp cloth while the baby squirmed and squealed and tried to escape, but Ishikawa was nowhere to be seen. 

“Where is Sensei Ishikawa?” Jin asked.

“He went to go speak with the brewers and set watches on the other edges of the village,” Kenji said. “Are you about to head out?” he asked, more quietly. He let the baby pull away from him and Kabu tottered across the room and barreled headfirst into Yuna’s legs, wrapping his arms around one of them for balance.

Yuna found herself thinking of the infant daughter she’d had—and lost—with Takeshi. Not for the first time since she took the boy from Taishu. Her own child that had lived only a few scarce hours, drawing breath after labored breath until suddenly no new breath came. After her death, it had been harder and harder to be around Takeshi.

Eventually, she couldn’t be around him at all.

She picked Kabu up and held him to her chest, feeling her body respond primally to the warm small weight of him, her arms coming up to embrace and protect. All of a sudden, she didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t want to leave Kenji, either. She caught Kenji watching her and saw in his eyes that he knew exactly what she was thinking.

“He’ll be fine, Yuna,” Kenji said. “Ishikawa’s here. We’ll all be fine. And I have what you taught me.”

“I don’t like it,” Yuna said. “I don’t feel safe leaving you.”

“Kenji and Ishikawa are strong enough to hold the brewery for a single day. We’ll make our way back here an hour or so before sundown,” Jin said to her. “Ishikawa held the brewery just fine until we came along, and no Mongols have showed up yet.”

“’Yet’ being the most important word in the sentence,” Yuna said. “What will they do if the Mongols come?”

“They’ll kill Mongols or die,” Jin said. “Just like the rest of us.”

**

“I think we should go to the _onsen_ before we pick up the trail for the Mongols,” Yuna said as she and Jin finished packing Naoki and Kaze for the day’s ride.

Jin looked sideways at her from where he was cinching Kaze’s saddle. “The hot spring at Morimae is in the opposite direction that we need to go.”

“It’s not far out of the way,” Yuna said. “And we could use the bath.”

“Not the delay.”

“You stink,” Yuna said, causing Jin to stop what he was doing and look at her. She laughed at the expression of near shock on his face. “ _I_ stink. We both stink of horse and blood and sweat. A bath would not be amiss, my lord.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Don’t call me that.”

“If I’m going to die on a Mongol blade tonight, I want to die clean,” Yuna replied.

It drove the smile from Jin’s face.

“Don’t even joke about that.” He walked over and took her by the shoulders, gazing into her face intently. “I mean it. Please,” he added. “If you ever did fall… I don’t want to think of that being the last thing we ever spoke of it. A joke.”

“I’m sorry.”

He drew her into his arms, squeezing fiercely, and she returned the embrace.

“I’ll watch your back, if you watch mine,” he whispered in her ear. “And let the Mongols do the dying.” 

She leaned back from him, her face still dead serious.

“A bath, Jin. First, a bath.”

He lifted his arm and sniffed, cocking his head at her. “Is it that bad?”

“Let me put it this way,” Yuna said. “It’s a manly stench.”

“Message received,” Jin said, raising his eyebrows at her.

She mounted up on Naoki. “Hey, I said I don’t smell like a bed of flowers either. That’s exactly why I would like a bath. Kenji was even generous enough to lend me some yuzu oil. I may not smell like a bed of flowers now, but I will smell like a basket of fruit an hour from now.”

Jin climbed up on Kaze, wincing at the pain.

“I saw that,” Yuna said. “The _onsen_ will do you good. You’ve been running yourself ragged.” She walked Naoki forward, raising a hand to Kenji where he had come out onto the porch with Kabu in his arms. _“We’ll be back before dark!”_

Kenji waved in return, then took Kabu’s hand and made him wave, too.

 _“Be careful!”_ he cried out to them.

Yuna and Jin headed southeast.

**

Jin was tense for the first few ten to twenty minutes that they were out on the road, the cool wind driving any last remnants of sleep from their minds. But with a belly full of Kenji’s rice and pickles and even some smoked fish he had wrapped carefully in paper, it was difficult for Jin to keep up any sense of foreboding.

In fact, if it wasn’t for the weight of his armor and the sight of the Ghost armor on Yuna, winking in the weak sun, he could almost pretend that he was just out riding with his wife.

Even just imagining Yuna as his wife made his face burn with a blush under his helmet and he urged Kaze faster ahead, encouraging Yuna to kick into a higher gear to keep up with him. It had been several years since he visited Morimae before the Mongols, but he still knew the way well enough. The few times he had to travel north as a youth, he made sure to hit every warm place he could.

It was calm, eerily so, but Jin tried to keep a close watch, just in case. _They didn’t take the samurai far from here. There’s nothing stopping them from riding up on us at any moment._ As much as Jin wanted to enjoy Yuna’s interlude, it was hard not to be on edge. Even without the thought of what might be happening to the samurai and any other prisoners the Mongols had taken.

 _Don’t think about it. Yuna’s right. We can’t run ourselves to death. We have to be rested and prepared._ Even though he had managed to scrape his way out of the last two fights he was in—barely—Jin was increasingly aware of his own limitations. Even though the food and medicine and rest had made him feel slightly better, the wound fever temporarily banked and his wounds actually beginning to scab and heal, he could sense it circling like a wolf just beyond the ring of a campfire, yellow eyes waiting.

Eventually they turned down the path to the _onsen,_ slowing their horses to a walk until they finally spotted the white steam rising up from it like a cloud. Jin heard Yuna gasp in delight when they finally laid eyes on it, and the sound of her joy brought a small smile to his lips despite himself.

“Oh, thank the gods,” she said. She looked over at Jin, riding alongside him. “You’re a man. You don’t know what it’s like for a woman to not be able to clean herself.”

“You don’t have to justify your excitement to me,” Jin said, laughing a little. “It looks good. You talked me into it. Even if I didn’t have a manly stench.” He laughed again as he saw Yuna’s face turn pink. She had worn his armor but left the Ghost mask tied to Naoki’s saddle. Jin found himself glad. He was glad in his heart any time he had the chance to look on her face.

They rode up beside the _onsen_ and dismounted in the clearing of snow that surrounded the spring. A red maple draped over the top of the water, brushed with fresh snow. Jin was slightly relieved that the there was a clear line of sight all around them, giving them plenty of time to brace themselves if they were ambushed.

He didn’t relish the thought of fighting Mongols stark naked, but he would if he was pressed.

Yuna began stripping out of her armor and Jin followed suit, feeling uncharacteristically shy as he stacked the armor neatly to the side of the bamboo planks that formed the wooden step into the waters. He untied his shitagi and began carefully undoing the bandages that Yuna had tied on him earlier, rolling them up and lying them on his clothes to keep them clean.

He braved a glance over at Yuna as she slid her yukata off her shoulders with her back turned to him. She looked over her shoulder at him as if she had felt his eyes on her. He felt the urge to glance away but met her eyes instead.

“See something you like?” she said pertly.

Jin chuckled, feeling his face grow hot again. _Gods._ He couldn’t remember being so flustered in front of anyone since he was a boy being pushed around in dark corners by Ryuzo.

“Only if I’m allowed to look,” Jin said.

Yuna turned around to face him, holding her hands out palms-out as if she was presenting herself. She took her hair down and it fell across her shoulders. 

Jin grinned at her and said nothing.

“Happy to serve,” she said, her voice droll as she turned away from him again and walked over to Naoki to grab the yuzu oil Kenji had given her as Jin finished undressing himself. She looked over Naoki’s back as he did, though, watching the former samurai undress and take down his hair. Jin caught her looking as he gingerly lowered himself down into the hot waters, groaning, and gave her another slanted grin.

“I saw that,” he said as he sank under the waters until they lapped at his chin. He held his breath and dipped under the water until he was fully submerged then came up with his head slicked back like a seal, wiping water from his face.

Yuna walked back over to the _onsen_ with the vial of yuzu oil in her hand. She set the vial on a stone lining the spring and stepped down into the hot water, her eyes fluttering shut with pleasure as she melted into it. She didn’t stop until she was completely under the water, the rushing sound of the spring in her ears around her, her hair floating in a black cloud around her. She surfaced with a gasp, pushing it out of her face to find Jin watching her.

“Thank you for letting us come here,” she said, leaning back to let her hair soak in the water, scrubbing it with her hands to let the water completely saturate it before sitting up, water coursing down her back, turning to steam on the cold morning air.

“As if I could have stopped you,” Jin said, mimicking her actions. Even though he laughed when she said he stank, the words still miffed him a little. He set about splashing himself with the water, methodically scrubbing himself clean of the scent of horse and dried blood and dirt and sweat.

Yuna grabbed the vial of oil from the side of the _onsen_ and opened the cork stopper, pouring some out onto her palm. She rubbed her hands together and began smoothing the glistening substance over her arms, neck and chest. The bright, fragrant smell of the yuzu rose up on the _onsen_ steam. Jin took a deep breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth in a satisfied exhale.

“How are your wounds?” Yuna asked.

Jin was suddenly transported back to the first moment he met her, standing on a porch in Komoda village while it burned around him, her dismayed and frustrated expression as she dragged him back in through the door before a Mongol saw and murdered him.

_How are your wounds? Can you run?_

Even though it had only been a few weeks since he met her, Jin was amazed at how far they had come. It felt as if they had known each other for years. _We have known each other all our new lives,_ he thought. _Our lives after the Mongols. All the years before it were just a dream._

“Better,” Jin said, even though the hot water made the cuts sting. “How are yours?” he replied, looking at the bruise and gash on her cheekbone, the fading ring of bruises around her throat that made a deep unsettled rage rise in Jin, rage that had no place to go. The man who left those marks was dead, he reminded himself. _Yuna can take care of herself, always has. She doesn’t need you._

“Oh, this? This is nothing. My own mother has done worse than this.” She reached up with one hand to where the shiner across her face was fading to a greenish color, snaking up to the corner of her eye socket. The cut was black and scabbed over with blood. It would scar, Jin feared, though he thought it did nothing to detract from Yuna’s beauty. If anything, the imperfect mark only sharpened it, like a broken _kintsukuroi_ bowl laced with gold.

It made Jin sad to hear Yuna talk about her mother that way. His own mother had been gentle, the perfect epitome of what a samurai’s wife should be. She was quiet, decorous, and did not contradict either Lord Shimura or Lord Kazumasa. Even in her dying, she had been calm, like a tired bird lying with a shattered wing.

“What about your father?” Jin asked quietly. He had never heard Yuna mention him.

Yuna laughed, a single harsh syllable. “An Umugi pirate. I only saw him once. He brought Taka a toy boat. I think he died soon after. My mother never said.”

“I’m sorry,” Jin said. “I didn’t mean to bring up sad things.”

“Don’t be,” Yuna said, sighing as she leaned back against the rocks, spreading her elbows on them as she gazed back at Jin. “It was a long time ago.”

“My father died a long time ago, now,” Jin said. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt.”

“Yes, well, your father wasn’t a thieving murderer, was he?”

 _Some people in Yarikawa might disagree with you,_ Jin thought, but he kept it to himself. He didn’t want to think about that. It had been months since he had the dream of his father’s death, and he didn’t want to dwell on Kazumasa, afraid that thinking on it too long might bring it again when he laid his head down to sleep.

“No,” Jin said. He scrubbed his torso and legs under the water, feeling the silence settle down on them. It wasn’t exactly an uncomfortable silence, but the joking between them before had slipped away.

“Do you mean to keep the boy?”

Yuna looked up at him, and Jin thought he saw a glimpse of fear in her eyes that made his heart hurt.

“Is that a problem?” Yuna said, a slightly sharp tone in her voice.

“No,” Jin said, taken aback by it. “No, I’m just worried. About what kind of life we can give him. All things considered.” He only realized after the words were out of his mouth that he had said _we_ and not _you,_ as if it was a given she would be at his side. _I shouldn’t assume. She’s free to go where she wishes. She doesn’t have to stay with me._ He thought of the hunter Takeshi and swallowed.

“Better than the life he had left in Taishu. I will love him, and that will have to be enough,” Yuna replied. She poured a little more of the oil onto her hand and moved up to sit on the edge of the _onsen_ , smoothing it over her belly and legs as her limbs prickled with the cold, steam rising up off her shoulders like a ghost. Jin found himself staring at parts of her he had never even dreamed to see—a burn scar on one long coltish thigh, the dark aureoles of her breasts, the stretch marks of womanhood over her hipbones, looking like silver imitations of a tiger’s stripes brushed along the skin there. She saw him watching, but didn’t stop.

“I lost a child, before,” she said, quietly. “An infant girl. She lived only a few hours.”

“I’m sorry,” Jin said. He didn’t know what else to say. He knew that Yuna had an entire lifetime before meeting him—just as he did—but they so rarely spoke of what had come before the Mongols, he felt sometimes as if he barely knew her at all, as if he had only seen glimpses of her life and memories like the flash of a koi beneath the surface of a murky pound, there and gone again.

“This was with Takeshi?”

Yuna looked up at the tone of his voice, smiling just slightly as she raised her eyebrows at him. “Do I detect a note of jealousy, my lord?”

“Should I be jealous?” Jin replied.

Yuna’s smile grew and she dipped back into the waters, carrying the vial of oil with her as she crossed the _onsen_ to gather close to him. She set it down beside them.

“I could be with Takeshi now,” Yuna said, and Jin felt her hand run along his thigh under the water, the feeling of her oiled fingers like silk brushing him. “But I’m not.”

He caught her hand with his and squeezed it, his thumb in her palm as he watched her face.

“I’m in love with you, Yuna,” Jin said, feeling his heart clench at the words as he forced them out, keeping his voice as sure and calm as he could, meeting her eyes. It was one thing to whisper the words into her hair as she slept beside him, but it was another to say them with her dark eyes on his. “I know we haven’t known each other that long, but… I can’t help it. I wanted you to know. In case something happens.”

She pressed her body against his and snaked an arm around him to turn his face towards her by the jaw, kissing him. It wasn’t a heated kiss, but it was a confident one.

“I know. I love you too. It’s why I’m still here. And why I’m _not_ with Takeshi,” she added.

“Even though you bore his child?” Jin asked.

“I would bear yours,” Yuna whispered, her fingers rubbing his earlobe gently as she rested her hand against his face. “If the circumstances were different. But after what happened, I’m afraid… I don’t want to go through that again,” she said, softer.

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Jin said, even though the thought of that concession hurt him, and he couldn’t pretend that it didn’t.

She leaned up again and kissed him gently as an answer, then turned her back to him. “Will you rub the oil on my back? I can’t reach. I’ll do the same for you.”

“Like I could turn down that kind of offer,” Jin said, sparing a glance at their surroundings to make sure they were still clear before taking the vial and pouring some of the oil into his own hands, placing them on Yuna’s shoulders. He worked his hands across her shoulders and up the lines of her neck, not being able to resist placing a soft kiss at the nape there. He heard her sigh.

“You are as full of knots as a _shibari_ rope,” Jin said, working his way lower, down over her shoulder blades.

Yuna laughed in the middle of a pleasurable groan, sounding somewhat scandalized. “And what would _you_ know about _shibari_ ropes?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jin said, with mock modesty.

“Maybe I would,” Yuna said, slightly tilting her head back to look at him mischievously out of the corner of her eye.

“Oh you are a _demon_ ,” Jin replied, laughing as his hands slipped lower, moving from the bow-toughened muscles of her shoulders and arm to the softer flesh of her lower back, his hands slipping slightly around her waist at either side of her torso, kneading the skin there. She lowered her head with a low moan.

“Too hard?” he asked.

“No,” she gasped. “Just feels good.” She leaned back up and turned over her shoulder to look him in the face again. He saw that her cheeks were wet and flushed, her wet hair pulled over one shoulder to give him access to her bare skin, and had a hard time remembering a time when he had seen her looking more beautiful than she did now. “Are you _sure_ you want to go and save that samurai bastard? Because I’m happy to sit here for the rest of the day.”

“Unfortunately,” Jin said. “Otherwise we’ll never be able to enjoy this place without having to watch our backs every five minutes. And neither will anyone else in Kamiagata.” He pulled back from her and handed her the vial. “Return the favor?”

He turned his back on her and blinked as he felt the first touch of her sure, strong hands on his flesh.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that wasn’t your first time giving a massage,” Yuna said, her fingers pressing against his skin as her hands moved, working out the tension in his own muscles. He bowed his head to give her better access to the base of his neck.

“I am almost thirty,” Jin said.

“ _Almost_ thirty? You baby,” Yuna said, laughing as she pressed down harder, eliciting a groan from him.

“How old are you?” he asked, curious.

“Hasn’t any woman ever taught you never to ask that of a woman?” Yuna said.

“Sorry,” Jin said.

“I was just teasing,” Yuna replied. “I am thirty-four, if you must know.”

“Ah, I can see why you are sensitive about it.”

She splashed him.

“That’s not a nice thing to say to someone who has their hands around your neck,” Yuna said, returning her hands there to rub her thumbs against his nape where the dark sheet of black hair started. She brushed it aside and laid a love bite on his shoulder to soften her words, grinning against him as she heard him suck in a breath.

“I am trying to meditate on the upcoming battle, and you are distracting me,” Jin said, but she could hear the laughter in his voice.

“Maybe that’s the point.”

“So, what do you know about this mainlander?” he asked, gritting his teeth as she moved her hands lower, doing her best to skirt his wounds but gently work the muscles and flesh around them, increasing circulation to the cuts.

“He’s an idiot.” She poured more of the yuzu oil into her hands and sat the open vial back down before moving to work on Jin’s upper arms, kneading him like a cat. The fragrance of the bright citrus rose up around his face like a cleansing cloud. It reminded him of the yuzu baths he used to take each winter at Castle Shimura, the fruit sliced raw and dropped into the hot _furo_ tub to soak, releasing their oils and juices.

“You said as much,” Jin replied. “Anything beyond that?”  
  
“He wants to murder you.”

“He can get in line,” Jin said. “So, he’s a murderous idiot. That’s all you know?”

Yuna pressed herself against the oiled, bare line of Jin’s back, wrapping her arms around his chest and pulling him closer to her. He went willingly and sighed as he felt her rest her chin on the top of his shoulder, her breath brushing his face as she spoke.

“Hmm,” she said. “He’s young, much younger than you. But he reminds me of you. When we first met.”

“That bad?”

“Oh, worse.” Yuna squeezed him. “He thinks he can save the island and the mainland, too.”

“Sounds like someone I’d rather have at my back than across from me in a duel,” Jin said. “As long as he wouldn’t put a knife in it.”

Jin felt Yuna shake her head slightly on his shoulder. “No. He’s not like that. He’s like you… like you were before.”

“Before I became the Ghost, you mean?”

“Before you learned what it meant to survive against the Mongols,” she whispered back. “What it cost.”

He sighed again, dreading even the thought of leaving the warm waters. “Then we better hurry and move on, if we want him to still be alive when we get there.”

Yuna held him more tightly, as if he was already trying to move away from her to leave. “Just let us sit a little while longer.” Her wet hand skated across his bare chest, her thumb brushing over his nipple there, and he shivered into her touch. “Please. Just for now.”

“I would refuse you nothing you ask of me,” Jin said. And he meant it.

He leaned back against her and rested against the pillow of her breasts at his back as she wrapped her arms around him, kissing the tender side of his neck where his heart’s blood flowed in return. They sat in the still warmth of each other’s company, watching the fields around them for anyone who dared to break the peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Technically shibari bondage (kinbaku) didn't become historically prominent until the 1600s, but I'm taking some historical liberties here. ;)


	24. Kettei (Decisions)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin and Yuna track the Mongols. Kenji and Ishikawa babysit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody who is still reading along with this story! Sorry it took me a few extra days to get this out, but I'm working on a few other WIPs (The Things We Left Behind and Kitsune) and I've had some work to catch up on as well, so thanks for your patience too. :) 
> 
> _Everybody wanna piece  
>  dirty like a pair of cleats  
> Niggas run they mouth a lot  
> like bitches and parakeets  
> How you want it pimpin'?  
> I'm so cold with it  
> Make other boys wanna do it just because I did it_
> 
> _I'm like a legend or some kinda prophecy  
>  Sent here to set you free  
> fresh player follow me  
> Into another world deep inside yo' own soul  
> This shit here way bigger than tattoos and cornrows._ \- 8 Ball, "Hands in the Air" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_vAzw96PH04

Yuna was almost pouting when it was finally time to leave the _onsen._ After they dressed and came back to where the horses had wandered to scratch up listless grass under the snow, Jin noted the sullen but resolved expression on Yuna’s face and suppressed a grin. He came up to her and put his arms around her neck, nuzzling at her nose gently before kissing her.

“Don’t make a sour face,” he murmured. “We’ll come back. Once this place is safe, we’ll spend a week out here and just eat pears and drink _sake_ until our eyes cross.”

“And make love?” Yuna asked, looking at him from under her lashes. Her face was demure, but her eyes were full of mischief. 

Jin had the grace to blush from the roots of his hair to his collarbone. “If it pleases you,” he replied.

“I’ll be happy to show you what pleases me,” she said. Yuna kissed him back with gentle assurance before turning away to climb on Naoki’s back. “Was my disappointment at leaving that obvious?”

“You have an expressive face. It’s lovely,” Jin added, smiling as he climbed up on Kaze. “But you don’t hide things well on it.”

Yuna thought about her interactions with the samurai Mori. _He knew. He knew the entire time that I wasn’t who I said he was. But still he pretended._

It caused her teasing smile to fade, and her skin prickled with goosebumps as a frigid wind whipped across the empty fields around them, blowing the wet strands of her hair back from her face. She grabbed her headband and tied her hair back again to keep the dampness off her bare neck before wrapping the headband around her head.

 _He’s not a victim._ Yuna tried to put the samurai in the golden armor out of her mind, to focus on the ex-samurai before her, but was impossible. And she realized that despite what she had said to Jin, the mainlander wasn’t an idiot. Not really. Being an idealistic, pigheaded fool and being an idiot were two different things. He had seen through her as if she was made of wind.

 _Lord Sakai is just a man. He can die like any man. Unless he bows to the will of the shogun, he_ will _die like any man._

She shivered again, but not from the cold. Yuna watched Jin moving Kaze into a trot ahead of her, the easy relaxed set of his back from their rest in the _onsen._ Her dark thoughts made her feel guilty after the nice time they’d just had, but she couldn’t keep the mainlander from her mind. His hard tea-colored eyes, as resolved as Jin’s ever were.

Yuna had never seen him draw his fancy sword and realized as they broke into a faster gait that she didn’t want to.

They had been confident enough to send him alone.

She kept her thoughts to herself as they rode and fell into a companionable silence. Yuna noticed that Jin seemed to be riding more easily, as if his muscles had loosened from the hot mineral water around his injuries. It relieved her to see it. He also seemed more clearheaded, not sliding into a fever delirium like it seemed he might only a day before.

Eventually they reached a crossroads near the center of the island at mid-morning. The snows had abated, but the wind blowing across the snow that had already fallen was cold. Yuna drew her fur shawl more closely around her shoulders, wishing she had taken the time to rub her hair dry rather than just wring it out and pull it back.

“This is the place where I found the sword,” Jin called ahead of her.

They rode Kaze and Naoki off the road slightly. Fresh snow had dulled the tracks here, but they could still easily see the passage of multiple horses, the flattened grass where they’d been written in a circle. It reminded Yuna of wolf tracks surrounding a kill. 

“He made it far from where I unhorsed him,” she said softly, looking down at the ground where the hoofprints marked it. She started to feel disquiet steal more strongly over her. While it felt good to be clean, the warmth of the _onsen_ had been driven out of her by the driving cold wind and the knowledge of where they were headed. What they were going there to do. There was no pretending now.

She looked up at Jin.

“Jin… I’ve been thinking about something. And I want you to listen to me before you get upset about it.”

He turned on Kaze and looked at her expectantly.

For a moment, Yuna almost lost her nerve. But she didn’t. “I think the samurai should die. I don’t think he needs to ever leave the Mongol camp alive.”

Jin just looked back at her, his body growing stiff and still, his expression carefully blank. The ease that had settled between them at the _onsen_ had vanished, and Yuna realized that now she was looking into the eyes of the Ghost.

“You think _we_ should kill him,” he said. “Not that he should die.”

Yuna felt hot blood rise up in her cheeks at the way he was looking at her, but she pressed on. “Yes.”

There were a few deep seconds of silence between then, with only the wind howling on the field. Finally, he answered her. 

“You really think that he deserves death.” He didn’t say it like a question. Yuna thought she heard a tone of low shock in his voice, one that made her swallow hard. She wasn’t used to the way Jin was looking at her now, as if he was considering how well he actually knew her.

“It doesn’t matter whether he does or not,” Yuna replied, meeting his gaze steadily. “He’s a threat to us. To you. I won’t let him hurt you or Kabu, Jin. I don’t intend to give him the chance.” _Not after what Ryuzo did,_ she thought, but the dangerous, speculative look in Jin’s eyes made her keep it to herself.

“…I’m not going to kill him unless he gives me no other choice,” Jin replied. “Enough of our people have died already at my hands.” He shook his head. “I’ve killed so many, Yuna,” he added, softer. “I can’t just kill him because he’s a threat to me. I’d have to kill half the island. And it feels like I already have, the half that the Khan didn’t.” 

The tone of his words drove a sharp spike of guilt through Yuna. It made her think of the broken look she’d seen on his face, right after he stabbed his first man from behind. The faraway look in his eyes, as if he was watching something in himself leave he would never get back. Whatever was in him that died that day, the Ghost had taken its place. But sometimes Yuna saw the ghost of the man Jin might have been without the Mongols, and she saw it now.

“Jin, I understand. But I think that he won’t give you any other choice but to fight him,” she said. “And I don’t want you to fight him.”

“You don’t think I could kill him?”

“I don’t want you to fight anyone who is _that_ convinced they can kill you. Not when I’ve never seen them fight.”

“You’ve seen me fight.”

“You’re wounded,” Yuna countered harshly.

“I saw his tracks where he lost you,” Jin said, trying to keep his voice calm and sure. “He walked. _He_ was wounded. Too wounded to pursue at full speed. And you’re still worried he’s a threat?”

Yuna’s brow furrowed. _The man is as hardheaded as an ox._ “I say we are under enough threat already without taking another risk we don’t have to. I say maybe it’s the will of the gods that he die if the Mongols took him, and a show of their favor to you.”

Jin scowled back at her, trying to see if she was being serious, and then decided that she was. He let out an exasperated huff. “Yuna… this isn’t about the gods. It’s about a man’s life.”

“The only man’s life I care about is the one that is angry at me now. The gods can have all the rest as far as I’m concerned, and you can be angry about it if you like.” 

“I’m not angry,” Jin said, and his tone told Yuna it was the truth. He was infuriatingly patient. It made her want to strangle him sometimes or shake the teeth from his head. Whenever she was irritated at him, it just irritated her more. It was like being in love with a bodhisattva. “I just think that it’s the wrong way. You want me to kill him unarmed?”

Jin shook his head. “No. I won’t do that. You didn’t see what the Mongols did to Harunobu Adachi. I may have forsaken my honor, but I have not fallen that far. I won’t kill an honest man without giving him the chance to defend himself or stand aside.” He clucked his tongue and headed Kaze down the trail after the Mongols. Yuna followed alongside him.

“I think he’s too dangerous to leave alive. Even wounded. And you don’t have to do kill him,” Yuna replied. “I’ll do it.”

“I don’t want you to kill him, either.” Jin’s voice was soft, and Yuna thought she detected a tinge of sadness in it.

“I would have done it already, if I didn’t have Kabu with me.” _And then we wouldn’t even be having this mad conversation where you are defending a man who wants you dead,_ she wanted to add, but knew that saying it would make no difference to Jin.

“Thank the gods you did, then,” he replied. “Keeping him alive is the only chance we have left to keep the peace.”

“Funny,” Yuna said, looking over at him, “Killing you is what he thinks is the only chance left to keep the peace. ‘Surrender or die’, Jin. That’s his command to you. And what will you tell him when we find him?”

He didn’t meet her hard gaze, instead focusing his eyes on the tracks they were following in the snow.

“The same.”

Yuna fell silent, following him. There was no use in continuing to argue. She knew by now that once Jin had set his mind on something, he set all his focus on it. Jin seemed content to ride in silence too, and they broke into a gallop.

Yuna watched Jin as they rode.

_If I have to kill him, I will. And beg forgiveness after._

**

Kabu was crying, and Kenji was at a loss.

At first he had been content enough playing in the floor, but after awhile it seemed he was looking around for Yuna and he began to fuss. Kenji made sure he didn’t need to go to the bathroom and tried to feed him some of the leftover rice from breakfast, but the boy howled and slapped at the chopsticks, sending rice grains skittering across the floor.

Finally, he sat in the floor and sobbed, disconsolate. Kenji tried to comfort him, to cuddle with him, to play with him, even threw himself in the floor and pretended to pitch a fit himself, as that would always make Taka stop crying and start laughing in embarrassment or confusion whenever he did it when Taka was little.

Ishikawa walked back in to find Kenji pretending to throw himself around on the floor and Kabu crying. His expression was thunderous as Kenji sat up on the floor, sheepish.

“Did they go?” Ishikawa said.

“Yes, they left a while ago.”

Ishikawa raised one eyebrow at Kenji, and then shifted his gaze to the crying infant. “You’re excellent with children, I see.”

Kenji gave him a scathing look. “By all means, sensei, if you’d like to take a shot at it, be my guest. He was fine just a bit ago, until he realized Yuna was gone.”

Ishikawa closed the brewery door behind him and set his bow down against the wall by the door before walking over to where Kanji was sitting next to Kabu. He picked up the baby and tossed him unceremoniously into the air before catching him.

The baby shrieked with surprise and had a look of shock on his face when Ishikawa brought him down to chest height, but he had stopped crying.

Ishikawa smiled at him, raising his eyebrows, and threw the baby up again. This time Kabu shrieked with laughter instead of just screaming in surprise. When the archery master caught the baby again, he was smiling even though there were tears on his cheeks still. Ishikawa brought the baby to his chest and Kabu made a high-pitched noise, reaching up to grab a handful of Ishikawa’s beard and yank it cheerfully like the tether on a temple bell. Ishikawa winced but said nothing.

“You’re an insufferable show-off,” Kenji said.

Ishikawa gently extracted the baby’s fingers from his beard, letting Kabu wrap his fingers around Ishikawa’s thumb instead.

“I’m just good at what I do.”


	25. Ōkami no Atama (The Wolf's Head)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin and Yuna hunt the Mongols.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who is still following along and leaving comments or kudos, it really means more to me than you could imagine! :) 
> 
> **UPDATE (10-7): Just as a heads-up, I have been at the beach for the past week but I HAVE been working on an update and hopefully I will be able to get that posted soon!!!**
> 
> Also the title of this chapter is a reference to a movie and if you can figure out what it is, I'll just be impressed that we're the same breed of nerd. There's no prize. <3
> 
> _You're fuckin' with the wrong wolf, baby  
>  Darkness gonna break your light_
> 
> _No dread gonna part my thunder  
>  No words gonna change my mind  
> You're fuckin' with a sickness, baby  
> Your heart is a plague on mine_
> 
> _I am a missile  
>  I am the fire  
> Love is destruction  
> But this war is mine, this war is mine_ \- "Missile", Dorothy

Yuna and Jin ditched the horses when they saw the passage of the war band grow more pronounced in the snow, sharper. It would be easier to duck and hide if they needed too without the horses to give them away. Jin lightly smacked Kaze on the flank and he took off, with Naoki hot on his tail.

“It’s broad daylight. We go in quiet,” Jin said, and Yuna nodded.

When they got closer, they could see the smoke from the Mongol encampment marking the horizon like a black flag. Jin took point, moving as silently as a fox through the frozen pampas grass, making a beeline for the invaders.

As they moved, he tried to quiet his mind, focusing on the soft in and out of his breath, keeping it shallow so they wouldn’t create too much white breath on the air, any kind of extraneous movement that might draw a scout’s eye. Even though it was midday, the day was overcast, and a sullen snow had begun to blow in fits and starts.

They crept up an embankment along the western edge of the Mongol camp that looked down into it. The military outpost had been built up with hastily hacked down trees carved into spikes, like bristling wooden teeth. Within the wooden walls, Jin could hear Mongol speech, shouting and laughter, and the sound of horses.

Once they were at the top of the embankment, Jink got down on his belly and made his way to the edge, crawling like a snake. Yuna followed his lead.

“There they are,” he whispered. _Gods, there’s still so many. Too many to take on directly._

“And there are the prisoners,” Yuna whispered back, pointing at the far end of the camp. Jin could make out a series of bamboo cages and could see the vague shapes of people inside them, but it was too far to make out any details.

“I told you there would be more than just the samurai,” Jin said. “Can you see him?”

“No,” Yuna said. “We have to get closer.”

“ _I’ll_ get closer,” Jin said, looking at her. “If I run into trouble, shoot at them and draw their attention. Let me get away. But they won’t know I’m there. What does the samurai look like?”

Jin half expected Yuna to argue about letting him go in alone, but she didn’t. “Tall, young, almost a boy. High cheekbones. Slim. He doesn’t have a beard. He was wearing a set of golden armor, but I doubt those thieves let him keep it.”

“Okay.” Jin turned back to look at the camp. “That’s probably enough to go on. I just want to see if he’s actually here.” _And if he’s still alive._

Looking over the camp’s western wall, Jin saw a spot where the construction wasn’t complete yet, and there was a gap between two of the sections. It would be a tight fit with the Sakai armor on, but he thought he could still swing it. Beyond the wall, he could see where there were a few yurts huddled together. Easy enough to find a hiding spot once he got in.

Jin attached his _kaginawa_ to an overhanging branch and used it to rappel down the side of the embankment, dropping quickly like a stone on the end of the rope to avoid being seen. Once he was able to leap down, he pulled the _kaginawa_ free and met Yuna’s gaze before turning away from her and crouching, stalking his way towards the end of the Mongol camp. He realized as he got closer that he could actually understand snippets of what they were saying, here and there. Mostly single words like _horse_ or _fight._ But just as they had been studying the people of Tsushima, Jin had been studying them.

He slipped through the gap in the fence and glided behind a trio of yurts capped with snow, slowly making his way across the edge of the camp towards the prisoner cages to get a better look. Part of him wanted to just start picking the Mongols off now and save them the trouble of having to return to finish the job at dark, but with the number there were, he was afraid that they would lose prisoners in the process.

His wounds were also still throbbing and were slowing him down, even if he didn’t feel feverish anymore. Just climbing down the side of the embankment wall had been enough to set his injuries yammering, making it difficult for him to think.

He finally got close enough to the prisoner cages to see into them. There were six cages holding at least a dozen men and women, maybe a few more—it was hard to tell with them crammed together—but only the cage on the far western end contained one prisoner alone. A man sitting on the ground, his right hand cradling his left elbow, head lowered with long hair hanging in his face.

 _That might be our man,_ Jin thought. It was impossible to tell much about him even from this distance with his head bowed. But Jin didn’t think that they would put any single prisoner by himself if it wasn’t for a reason. And Jin couldn’t tell from a distance, but his posture did look injured, as if the man had curled in on himself with pain or despair or both.

It made him think of Yuna’s words to him earlier. They troubled him more than he would let on, at least to her.

_I think the samurai should die._

It wasn’t the thought of killing alone that turned Jin’s stomach—he had killed men all over the island, Mongols and Japanese alike. In a sick way, he felt that over the past several weeks he had almost gotten used to it. The first time he murdered a man from the shadows in cold blood, he had ended up haunted for days, his uncle’s stern words echoing in his brain like confused birds caught in the rafters of a house, banging against the walls.

But that was only the first one. With each Mongol he killed from behind after that, he only got better at it. He went from sawing them down, holding back their screams while he stabbed them to death, to a slick quiet jab like cutting a chicken’s neck, letting their life blood out on the snow or the grass. Quick, almost painless. Half of them were unconscious before they even hit the ground.

That only made it easier. He found a part of himself pleased as he hid in the grass and listened to them panic as he picked them off one by one, leaving their hot bloodied corpses for their friends to find, still twitching. Never thinking of what it would feel like from the other side. To be hunted.

Now he knew. And that was the part he didn’t think Yuna realized. Killing the one samurai wouldn’t make a difference. He was just the first of many. Killing him wouldn’t stop what was coming from the mainland. 

Jin told himself he didn’t care, that this was just something that had to be done, an indignity to be faced, a sacrifice to be made… that it was just a means to an end. It was the most efficient way to protect his people—both those sworn to him, and the people he loved and cared about.

But the truth was that he did care about the Mongols.

He _wanted_ them to be afraid.

He didn’t want to kill the samurai, even though Jin had never met him. He didn’t want to kill any of his own people or make them afraid of him. He felt a sharp jab of guilt as he remembered the woman in Kamiagata who would rather die—and did—before letting Jin into her home, she was so afraid. Who refused his aid just because he was the Ghost.

Jin didn’t want his people to be terrified of him… but he also knew that they deserved to be. Because in his heart, he knew he was every bit as much the monster as they made him out to be. Father-killer. Friend-killer. And death in the night.

They had been afraid of Kazumasa… and now they feared him, too.

He cast a glance up at the embankment, but Yuna was nowhere to be seen, which meant that wherever she had stolen away to, he was reasonably sure that Mongol scouts wouldn’t be able to see her either. _Good._ As Jin moved through the edge of camp like a shadow, he finally saw the gold armor that Yuna had been talking about. But it wasn’t a samurai wearing it. One of the Mongols was sitting around one of the three campfires in the encampment with a few of the others, wearing it. The gold-chased _kabuto_ glittered in the snowy half-light. Jin heard their bright, half-drunk laughter, carried to him by a gust of cold wind.

 _Thieves,_ Jin thought, feeling a rush of indignation rise up in him, unable to help it. He thought of what it would feel like to watch the Mongols wearing the Sakai armor, and that made him pity the caged samurai even more. If that was truly who and what he was.

Seeing the other prisoners crammed into cages made Jin want to just stand up where he was hiding and stride into the middle of camp. He wanted to just pull his sword and start swinging. Knowing that Yuna watched on kept him from doing it. If he rushed in, she would rush in. If he risked his life, her life would be risked as well. And her armor wasn’t as thick as his.

It made him think of Ryuzo taking an arrow for him in Omi, and Ryuzo—oh, that was a knife that never stopped twisting.

_I love you. I told you already. Stop trying to make me prove it so violently, yeah?_

Jin closed his eyes, trying to drive the memory away. He kept moving along the edge of the camp, though he didn’t want to get too far from the fence gap in case he had to make a break for it. And he didn’t want to alert the prisoners to his presence either—one of them might give him away. Desperate men would do anything to curry the favor of the Mongols. Jin had seen that much for himself.

He saw a large yurt on the far eastern side of the camp, furthest from the prisoners. It was at least three times the size of any other yurt in camp and was dressed with furs. A large man glowered at the entrance with an equally large battle ax.

  
_The leader will be in there. Take him down first, then move across the rest. I can scare them if I have to, but it’ll be better to go in without raising an alarm. There’s too many prisoners to protect them all at once in an open fight. This will have to be a job for the Ghost._

Satisfied, Jin crept back to the gap in the fence and wiggled through. He heard a soft rustle in the trees above him and saw Yuna crouched on a wide overhanging branch, eyes watchful from behind the Ghost mask. He made a pointing gesture beside his head and moved around the camp, keeping to the shadow of the wall until he could slip away into the grass, hugging the embankment until it was shallow enough to climb back up.

He was almost to the top when a root he was using to steady himself gave way, and he found himself windmilling back to the ground. The breath was knocked out of him and pain raced through him like a streak of lightning before clumps of frozen dirt rained down on him, falling into his face.

 _“Jin!”_ With his eyes closed he heard Yuna’s worried whispered above him and saw her head peeking over the edge of the embankment, eyes wide with worry. He waved her off and threw the broken root in his hand aside, casting a look around to make sure he hadn’t been heard before standing up and brushing the dirt off himself. Luckily the Mongols were making too much of their own noise to hear him.

Instead of climbing this time, he made his way around the base of the embankment until it sloped off and flattened completely. He didn’t straighten back up from a crawl until he was safely back within the tree line. Yuna ran up to him.

“Are you all right?” She kept her voice low but Jin heard the anxiety in it. She scowled, running her hands over his armor, coated with snow-wet dirt. “You scared the _life_ out of me!”

“Was not my finest moment,” He grimaced at a bolt of pain from his side, and then smiled wanly at her. “I need my armor back. It’s lighter for climbing.”

Yuna shook her head a little at his joke, unsmiling. _I really did frighten her,_ Jin thought. “Did you find him?” she asked. “The mainlander?”

“I think so,” Jin said as they moved further away from the camp so they could call their horses without being heard. “There was a man being held alone, he looked like he might have been samurai. I saw one of the Mongols wearing samurai armor that looked as you described. And I was right. They have more prisoners than just him. Many of them. I couldn’t risk freeing them yet. I wanted to,” he added, softer.

“We’ll be back,” Yuna replied. “And with better weapons for the job.”

**

“So why didn’t you ever have children, Sensei Ishikawa?”

Ishikawa looked up from the flames in the hearth where he was sitting close to the warm of the fire and cast his eyes at the ceiling before cutting them over at Kenji. Kabu was nestled in his arms, sleeping and drooling a damp patch onto the front of Ishikawa’s shirt, but even though his left arm was slowly but surely falling asleep, he would not put the boy down for fear of waking him.

Without answering, Ishikawa glanced down at the soft, peaceful face in his arms.

“I could ask you the same.”

“Easy answer,” Kenji said. “No woman would have me. They’re an important part of the whole process. Can’t have sake without rice. Can’t have kids without a wife.”

Ishikawa let out a soft snort, shifting the baby’s weight in his arms to try and relieve some of the pressure. He froze when the baby made a whimpering noise, hand clasping into a small fist, and waited to move again until Kabu sighed deeply and stilled.

“I didn’t take a wife,” Ishikawa replied. “I dedicated myself to the bow.”

“There are plenty of samurai who do both, you know. They’re encouraged to, I thought.”

“What business is it of yours?” Ishikawa asked, his voice taking on a sharp tone. His brow furrowed.

Kenji brought his hands up in supplication. “ _None_ , my lord. Just making small conversation. You’re good with children to have none of your own. That’s all. I thought since we’re stuck here together, we may as well get along. Get to know each other a bit better. You’re free to ask me anything you like.”

“I’m also free to go stand in the snow barefoot but you don’t see me doing it.” Ishikawa growled, keeping his voice low so he didn’t wake the baby. “You think a man gets to be my age and hasn’t ever had to deal with children before? Only if he’s a useless clod.”

“So, do you have nieces and nephews? Had to take care of a younger sibling or something?”

“I had my share.”

Kenji shook his head. “I don’t understand why you are so closemouthed about it all. Do you think I could hold anything you said against you?” He put his hands on his knees and looked into the fire. “If we have to fight together, I’d just rather us be friends.”

“If you must know,” Ishikawa said, “I had to take care of my younger siblings when my mother died. One of them was young. …And I’ve no interest in taking a woman to bed. Then or now. So I’d rather you dropped the subject if it’s all the same.”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

“Oh,” Kenji said. “ _Oh.”_

Ishikawa said nothing. Only looked into the fire. His face was carefully neutral.

“I don’t care,” Kenji said, sincerely. 

“What makes you think I care if you care?” Ishikawa said, looking over at him with hard black eyes. They were, in Kenji’s estimation, the eyes of a dog who had been kicked one too many times and meant to bite anyone within a six-foot radius of it as a general rule from here on out.

“I don’t,” Kenji replied. “I was just saying… I don’t. I was just curious. It doesn’t matter to me.” His face reddened though, and he brought the gourd back up to his mouth, swallowing nervously.

“I would have liked to have children,” Ishikawa added, more softly. “It just didn’t happen. Only fools spend their old age marinating in the regrets of their youth.”

“I’m sure you could still have that one, if you were willing to fight Yuna to the death for him,” Kenji said, looking at Kabu where he lay in Ishikawa’s arms.

“Hmph,” Ishikawa said. “I suppose that’s why I took Tomoe in. The joy of a daughter without the duty of a wife.” He sighed. “And we can see how well that worked out. Maybe if I’d had a wife to soften her, Tomoe wouldn’t have turned out the way she did.”

“The boy is not Tomoe, though.”

“This boy shouldn’t even _be_ here,” Ishikawa said, looking down into Kabu’s face. “It was foolish to bring him along.”

“You can’t expect that Yuna would have just left him to die,” Kenji said. “She’s not that way. Neither her nor Lord Sakai. They would never do that.”

“You know why heroes lose more than the villains, Kenji?” Ishikawa asked, curling the baby’s body closer to his chest.

The sake seller shook his head.

Ishikawa stared into the fire, one of his hands absently cradling one of Kabu’s, rubbing a bowstring-callused thumb across the back of the baby’s hand. “It’s because they care more. They love, and that love makes them weak. It makes them hesitate and it makes them make bad decisions,” Ishikawa said. “And eventually, it kills them.”

“Pretty grim,” Kenji said. “If you really believe that, _sensei_ , why not just join the Mongols and be done with it? Like Tomoe?”

“Because villains winning more than the heroes doesn’t make them any more right.”

**

Jin whistled for the horses when they were a safe distance from the Mongol encampment, then turned to Yuna.

“The samurai looked wounded.”

“Cut off a wolf’s head and it still has the power to bite,” Yuna replied, terse.

Jin cocked his head at her as Naoki and Kaze galloped up, snow flying up at their feet. He made a face. “That’s just a myth.”

“It’s a lesson,” Yuna replied, swinging up onto Naoki’s back. She looked at Jin carefully as he climbed onto Kaze before returning his eyes to her. “Jin, is it really worth being betrayed again? You told me once that Ryuzo loved you. This man doesn’t. He never did. You have even less reason to trust that he will spare you if you set him free.”

Jin started back towards Morimae.

“I have to give him a chance.”

“And if he kills you?” Yuna asked, her voice low bitter.

“Then it’s the will of the gods.”

Without looking over at her, Jin sped up, and Yuna had no choice but to follow.


	26. Yūsha (Hero)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hayato and the Mongol prisoners are rescued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating guys! I was at the beach drinking daiquiris and getting an irezumi tattoo! <3 
> 
> This chapter brought to you by "Hero" from Ruelle: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rezTx3PSaAE
> 
> _This wind it blows  
>  Cuts to the bone  
> The hunger grows  
> We're getting closer and closer_
> 
> _And everyone's watching  
>  It all unfold  
> Everyone's watching  
> Who's gonna take the throne?  
> Everyone's watching  
> Who's gonna run the show?_
> 
> _Everybody wants a hero  
>  Everybody wants someone to lay it all down on the line  
> Everybody wants a hero  
> Everybody wants someone who's gonna fight fire with fire_

Enkh had a bad feeling.

As he made his way to the main fire, he was already in a sour mood from a discussion he’d had with his father earlier in the day. Several of their patrols to the south had been found slaughtered, laid open as if by a beast except for the cleanness of the cuts, and all over camp there was fresh talk of the Ghost. The more men the Ghost killed, the wilder the stories became.

It didn’t help that the weather was becoming worse too, flashes of lightning flickering across the wind-swept gray skies above blowing snow. That had been rolled into the ghost tales too—Enkh had heard more than one man speak of the storms as divine intervention against them, that the Japanese were calling their gods and demons up for battle, and that the Ghost was only the first of many.

Enkh had never seen snow and lightning together before, and it worried him. So did the fierce look of the ocean. There were supposed to be more Mongolian ships coming, but what if they sank?

He was tired of Tsushima. It was cold, the men grew restless pinned down in the frozen north of the island and bickered amongst themselves and drank too much. No matter how many horses and slaves and women they’d taken, they were still unhappy, restless as a wild horse with a bit in its mouth. They wanted to be moving on, to the large island of Japan and beyond. There were other places still to see that they had not burned in their wake.

But now all the ships at the port were burned, and they were stuck. Until they had cut enough lumber to build ships to leave—as well as enslaved some shipwrights to build them—they were unable to leave Tsushima, a tiger with its leg caught in a trap. Furious, but still trapped.

The samurai seemed to be a lost cause, and that bothered Enkh. He wanted to show his father that at least one of the samurai could be persuaded and won over to the Great Peace. The ronin had been easy enough to recruit. They wanted food, money, safe passage.

The samurai could not be won over with things, or peace. They left hot meat to go cold even when they starved. They would rather die than be enslaved. They refused to surrender even when they had no chance to win, even when they could not fight.

Enkh thought that the samurai Evdersen could be won though. He was alone, and hurt, and frightened, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Enkh thought maybe a day or two more without food and water, and the samurai would break. He might hate himself for a bit about it, but Enkh thought he had enough Japanese language to talk the man through it. Surrender was peace. There was no point in being honorable and being dead.

He grabbed a skewer of roasted meat and a mug of _airag_ and settled between two of the other men in front of the campfire nearest his father’s tent, staring ruefully into the flames. The other two were laughing about something, but he wasn’t even listening with half an ear. Instead he stared into the flames, almost hypnotized by the dancing light.

Enkh always fancied himself something of a shaman. He had learned to lucid dream early, and often. That was part of the reason why he felt compelled to keep the samurai. There was something off about finding him out there, alone and wounded. Something that felt like fate, or a dream. And so Enkh had decided as soon as he saw him that he would capture him alive if he could.

The samurai was turning out just like all the others. Willing to die on a point to make one. Enkh found it somewhat depressing.

Chewing a mouthful of the roasted meat on his skewer, Enkh felt himself growing drowsy by the fire, even in the cold. As miserable as the north of Tsushima’s weather had become, his yurt was still strong and tight against the wind, warmed by a brazier. The thought of snuggling up under a pile of moon bear furs was a comforting one and he drank off half of his _airag_ at once, ready to wolf down the rest of his supper and catch some sleep before patrols at dawn. Most of the men who weren’t on guard were already tucked away in their tents.

There was a sudden low puffing noise and Enkh suddenly found himself surrounded in billowing gray smoke that made his eyes and throat sting. Startled, he dropped his mug of fermented mare’s milk in the snow and the half-finished meat skewer with it.

When a heavy antlered shadow dropped down from the top of a nearby yurt and landed on one of the men sitting across from him, his mouth was too full of meat to even cry out.

Enkh was barely able to pull his sword as he swallowed and watched another of his men cut down, blood spraying across the fire in a startling red fan that Enkh was close enough to feel stipple his own bare face. There was a terrible rasping whistling noise coming from the man’s blade-torn throat. Their attacker whipped his hand out and the third Mongol at the fire—a young archer named Chono—began to let out a high-pitched keening scream, holding his hands to his face. Blood sheeted down from beneath them like an insidious magic trick.

“ _My eyes! My eyes! Ai!”_

He was only able to scream for a few seconds before he was cut down, the blade flashing faster even than Enkh could see.

Enkh’s hysterical mind thought at first that the dark shape in the crazy twisting firelight cast against the blood-speckled yurt was some kind of animal, but then he saw the lacquered samurai mask and the scaled armor that glittered in the shadows. Furious onyx eyes glistened in the half-light behind the eye holes of the mask.

“ _Thief,”_ the assassin said, in Mongolian. He pointed the tip of his sword at Enkh where he had backed away from the fire, his eyes on the golden armor that Enkh was wearing.

 _“Intruder! Help!”_ Enkh shrieked, trying to call in reinforcements from elsewhere in the camp. Guards. His father. Anyone. But the only answer to his cries was the howling wind.

 _“Dead already,”_ the Ghost said in Mongolian, advancing towards him. The katana was smeared by blood, and Enkh found his eyes torn to it with horrible fascination, flickering back and forth between it and the eyes of the man in the mask before him. “ _No help.”_

Enkh took one look in his eyes and knew that it was true. His father’s yurt was on the farthest edge of the encampment, even if he was still alive—too far to hear his shouts upwind. And it seemed nobody was left alive in earshot to help him.

He was alone.

“Fine then,” Enkh said, moving into a guard position. He braced himself against the samurai’s advance. “Come on. _Watashi wa yūrei o koroshimasu.”_

The Ghost leapt at him, high enough to aim a kick at his face, and Enkh barely managed to avoid it, wheeling around to swipe at the man’s exposed flank. The Ghost turned on him just as quick, and the sound of their swords clashing was brittle on the air.

As he pressed on, Enkh could feel himself tiring against the onslaught, and it terrified him. No matter what weak spot he thought he could exploit, the Ghost twisted it against him, and every time he drove for a blow, he found himself parried. The worst part was, he didn’t even feel like the man was even trying all that hard. Just waiting him out, waiting for Enkh to get sloppy.

And then it happened. He thought about a move one second too long, hesitation overriding muscle memory, and the katana slid into his side, white-hot. Enkh suddenly found his throat heavy with blood that spilled over his lips as he coughed, the samurai holding him close as if embracing him. He could feel the heat baking off the other man, even in the cold.

Enkh wanted to curse the Ghost even as he felt the mortal wound fade into an unimportant faraway thing and his vision tunneled into a soft and almost comforting darkness, but he didn’t have the breath. Instead he closed his eyes and sank his head against the assassin’s shoulder, the hand he had clenched around the hilt of his sword softening until it tumbled into the snow.

Enkh was dead before he hit it himself.

**

Hayato awoke to a scream that was so faint it might have only been in his own head. The first thing he felt was the stiffness in his shoulder, the stiffness of his entire body from the cold. It made him think of winters as a child where he would go out and play in it until he was almost frozen solid and his mother set him up in front of the hearth, rubbing the blood into his hands and feet after he returned indoors.

He pushed the thought away, taking a deep breath and blinking back to full consciousness, craning his ear to hear above the blowing of the storm. All memories of Nara were painful now, much more painful than cold snow and cold wind and wounds. 

He looked over at the cage to the left of his. The prisoners there were awake too, milling anxiously like livestock frightened by wild dogs or wolves. One of the men saw Hayato looking and caught his eye.

“You hear that?” the peasant whispered. “Screaming.” He didn’t sound frightened, Hayato noticed. He sounded hopeful.

_So it wasn’t a dream._

Hayato nodded, looking back out to peer into the camp. It was pitch black except around the campfire, and no Mongols sat there now. It was an empty ring of flickering light that seemed far away, surrounded by darkness and muffled by blowing snow. Without the chatter of the Mongols, the encampment seemed very quiet.  
  
A shadow emerged from the darkness, a man walking along the line of the cages. In the dark, Hayato could only see the vague outline of an armored man, fire ticking off the metal of the armor, the dark lines of metal antlers glinting in the firelight.

 _Father?_ Hayato thought for a moment, almost delirious, wondering if he might have died or been killed while he slept, and this was the afterlife now. Maybe the Mongols killed them all.

No. It had to be Enkh, wearing his own armor. Coming back to try to coax him into eating. Or surrender. But then where were the others? Why was the camp so silent?

When the armored man paused in from of Hayato’s cage, Hayato saw the answer.

Death had come for the Mongols.

“Looking for me?”

Hayato tilted back his chin and looked up into the eyes of Jin Sakai. The disgraced nobleman looked even more ragged than he had the last time Hayato saw him, when he was taken captive at Castle Shimura. There were dark shadows underneath both of his eyes, which looked haunted. One of them was graced with a shiner, half-swollen shut, but the eye that peered out from behind his blackened eye was sparkling with intelligence and determination. He was still breathing slightly hard, as if he had run a long way. But Hayato supposed it was the killing that did it. 

Lord Sakai wasn’t wearing the Ghost armor that he had become so infamous for—instead, he wore a black burnished suit of armor that reminded Hayato of a dark shadow of his own.

 _The armor._ Hayato wondered if Enkh was wearing it. He supposed the Mongol probably had been. He wondered if Enkh was dead, and decided he probably was if Lord Sakai was standing before him soaked with wet blood that looked black in the moonlight.

Hayato wondered if it was destroyed, his father’s armor, and then decided it probably didn’t matter either way.

Hayato thought of saying _Surrender or die_ and the thought almost startled a hoarse laugh out of him. He might have if he knew it wouldn’t hurt so much to do it. Could he have ever been so foolish? He couldn’t even raise a sword now, and this man had just carved through an entire camp of men. No, he would not be able to defeat Sakai. Not now.

 _Probably not ever,_ his mind whispered, insidious. _Look into his face. He’s wounded and he slaughtered them. The Ghost of Tsushima. You never had a chance._

“Yes,” Hayato said instead, his voice soft. “I have been.”

“You’re the samurai they sent after me. Hayato Mori,” Lord Sakai said. He didn’t sound angry. If anything, he sounded a little surprised. “I remember you. You were one of the men who was guarding me. I remember your face.”

Hayato gazed back at him steadily, unashamed. “Yes.”

 _Now he will kill me._ In a way, Hayato was relieved. He let out an exhale deep enough to make his shoulder ache. He wouldn’t be tortured for refusing to fight for the Mongols. He wouldn’t be raped or burned or strangled in a standing cage. He wouldn’t have to choose between starvation and service.

He didn’t think Lord Sakai would torture him, not based on what he’d heard the peasants who followed him say. A merciful death then, swift as lightning.

_I’m ready. I’m ready now._

Lord Sakai opened the cage door. Only when he did, did Hayato notice the woman who was standing a little bit behind him. A woman who _was_ wearing the Ghost armor, but her face was bare for him to recognize.

“Lady Yuna,” Hayato said, loud enough for her to hear him. “You came back.”

“Lord Mori.” She bowed, and because it was behind Lord Sakai’s back, he could not see how mocking it was.

Instead of looking back at her, Lord Sakai held a hand down to Hayato. He looked at it like a man might look at a pit viper curled precariously near the edge of his sandal, before his eyes flicked upward.

“What?” Hayato said.

“Come,” Lord Sakai said. His face was so gentle it made the hair stand up on the back of Hayato’s neck. “You’re safe now.”

Hayato’s eyes searched Lord Sakai’s face, looking for any sign of subterfuge there. Surely this was a cruel joke. Sakai would pull him to his feet and jam a tanto between his ribs in the same breath. Hayato felt hot blood rise up in his cheeks. He had spent the past day and night being taunted, humiliated. He wouldn’t let his death be a joke.

But Lord Sakai simply held his hand out, as if he could hold it out the rest of the night, if that was required of him. Hayato looked beyond him. Behind Lord Sakai, Hayato could see the other prisoners, a few of them embracing and crying with relief. The sight of their grateful tears moved him, and he blinked hard.

Hayato hadn’t felt safe since he left Nara. The sea seemed like it might swallow them up, the beaches of Tsushima were still stained with blood. Everywhere on the roads beyond Castle Shimura were broken homes and shattered people.

He felt like he had been looking for Lord Sakai for years, and now that the man stood before him, Hayato wasn’t sure what to do. Lady Yuna glowered at him dangerously from behind Sakai, one hand ready on the hilt of her dagger. He had expected Lord Sakai to cut him down. 

He didn’t expect this.

“Come,” Lord Sakai repeated. His voice was implacable, the voice of command. Hayato had been listening to men speak like that all his life.

Hayato took the man’s hand with his uninjured right one, and Lord Sakai pulled him smoothly to his feet. Even so, the sudden movement jolted his left shoulder and Hayato bit back a sharp, short cry, flinching. Yuna misinterpreted the noise and was on him in an instant, her cold blade pressed against the dirty skin of Hayato’s throat hard enough to draw blood in a thin red line. He swallowed against it.

“Yuna,” Sakai said, looking at her but not releasing Hayato’s hand. Hayato noticed that the man had a grip like a vise, despite his slim stature. “It’s all right. Isn’t it?” he added, staring into Hayato’s face.

Hayato nodded slightly. Once. 

Hayato saw her meet Sakai’s gaze briefly before returning her eyes to his. Her eyes seemed as black as a storm in the middle of the night. She withdrew the blade but didn’t sheathe it.

“You’re lucky,” she said, her voice low and harsh. “You live by the grace of the Ghost. Don’t waste it, my lord.”

“You’re lucky you had a child to shield you,” Hayato snapped back, glaring at her. “Or you wouldn’t be here to threaten me now.”

 _“Enough,”_ Lord Sakai said, to both of them.

“You’re not going to kill me?” Hayato asked, turning his face back to Lord Sakai’s. He felt warm stinging blood trickling slowly into the creases of his neck.

“You’re wounded. I don’t kill wounded, unarmed men.” There was nothing scornful in his voice though. “Not except to finish them off. And you don’t look finished to me.”

“Then lend me your tanto, my lord,” Hayato said, his voice dull. “My swords are lost, or I’d use my own.” He stared at a snowy point on the ground. “I cannot fight you.” Even though he knew it was the truth, having to admit the words out loud was more painful than Hayato thought it would be. He couldn’t look into Lord Sakai’s eyes while he said them. Seeing the former samurai look at him with disgust—or worse, pity—might be enough to cause the tears threatening to fall. He would not cry in front of Lord Sakai if he could help it. 

“Then don’t.”

Hayato ground out the words. “I cannot return unless I bring you back.”

“Then don’t,” Lord Sakai repeated, more quietly. “Lord Mori, no matter what you might have been told by Lord Oga or any of the others, I am not your enemy. You’ve met the real enemy. The ones who brought you here. I don’t want to kill you. But if you attack me, you’ll give me no choice. I’m trying to give one to you.”

“Against my better judgment,” Yuna said, her gaze still hard.

“Let’s go,” Lord Sakai said. “Help me get these people to safety. We’ll see to your wounds. And if you still want to die afterwards, then we’ll talk about it.”

“My horse,” Hayato said, turning away, his voice hollow. “I have to find him.”

Hayato staggered off into the destroyed Mongol camp, his legs weak and wooden under him, stiffened up from the running they had forced him to do the night before. His head pounded. All around him laid dead Mongols—some with their throats cut, others flayed open to the bone. Their guts and blood were scattered across the snowy ground. Their blood steamed in the cold night wind. Hayato could still smell their roasting meat on the fire, dripping grease into the coals, and wondered what kind of meat it was.

 _Is deer. Eat,_ Enkh’s ghost whispered helpfully in his mind.

Suddenly Hayato saw a gleam of gold in the light from one of the campfires, on the ground. He walked to it. It was Enkh. There was snow in his eyes and he was dead. Hayato felt elated and sick and full of sorrow all at once. The man had tried to save him, had even been kind to him in his own brutal way. But he was wearing Hayato’s armor. Hayato felt his head swim with relief to see it. He kneeled in the snow beside the Mongol’s body and saw that his tanto’s sheath was tied at the Mongol’s side. Hana was lost… but the Mongol had kept his tanto.

Hayato withdrew it from the sheath, the sound of it whisper-soft as the blade rasped free. He turned and stood with it in his hand to find Lord Sakai and Yuna standing behind him. His fist clenched around the hilt of the blade as he stared them down.

“Don’t even _think_ about it,” Yuna said to Hayato, her tone full of deadly warning but also a note of disbelief. She brandished her blade at him, ready to throw herself between him and Lord Sakai if Hayato even looked like he was going to make a move in that direction. 

Lord Sakai ignored her and took two steps forward. He didn’t reach for his blade. Instead, he just held out his arms, palms open.

“Come on,” Lord Sakai said. “Do it, if you feel you must. But make it fast. I’m done running.”

“ _Jin,”_ Yuna hissed. She flashed her gaze to Hayato. “One step towards him and you die.”

Hayato just looked at him, bewilderment flashing across his face before he sank to his knees. He turned the blade of the tanto back towards himself. He knew he should pull his _shitagi_ loose, to expose the flesh of his bare belly and chest first, but he didn’t think that the rebels would stand for ceremony, not surrounded by the eviscerated dead.

Lord Sakai moved in the firelight, and Hayato felt like it was so fast he didn’t even see Sakai move until the man’s hand was already on his right wrist, his grip fierce. Hayato tried to wrench away from him, gritting his teeth in an unconscious snarl, bearing down on the blade, pressing it towards his stomach. Lord Sakai squeezed down and twisted slightly, a single sharp jerk, and Hayato was forced to drop the tanto into the snow.

Lord Sakai reached back and slapped him. It wasn’t a particularly hard blow, but it was resounding, hard enough to cause the world around Hayato to snap into stark clarity. Dimly behind the force of the slap, Hayato saw Sakai take his tanto and toss it to Yuna, who managed to catch it at the hilt with a gesture that made it look easier than it actually was.

“No,” Lord Sakai said softly, his face only a few feet away from Hayato’s as he kneeled in front of him in the snow, his grip softening on the younger samurai’s wrist. “No. Not that. You don’t have to.”

Hayato felt traitorous tears well up in his eyes despite himself, burning and getting caught in his dark eyelashes, blurring his vision. “My left shoulder is broken. I can’t fight you.”

“You don’t have to,” Lord Sakai said again, low and soothing. “Haven’t we lost enough? Don’t throw your life away. Come on. Let’s find your horse, if we can. We’ll come back for the armor. You don’t have to fight me.” He stood again. Held his hand out.

Hayato took it.

“I saw some horses tied up over on the southern end of the camp,” Lord Sakai said, heading in that direction. Hayato followed him, with Yuna at his side. The Japanese peasants were combing through the Mongol camp, gathering what supplies they could take away with them.

“No tricks,” Yuna said quietly as they walked side by side. “Or you’ll regret it.”

“Says the woman who lied to my face about who she was, who tried to lure me into the open to sabotage and try to kill me,” Hayato replied.

“Says the woman who helped free you, and helped save your life,” Yuna said. “Don’t forget it.”

They reached the horses and Hayato could not help but let out a harsh exhalation of relief when he saw Kaito tied up along one end of the row.

_“Kaito!”_

The horse let out a whickering noise and tried to pull his head around to look at Hayato, but he was tied to a wooden post.

Hayato broke into a jog even though it hurt until he was at the stallion’s side. After the nightmarish blur of the past hours, the horse almost seemed too hot and alive to be real, his breath pluming the frozen air. Hayato placed his palm on the stallion’s wide flank and laid his forehead against Kaito’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He could hear the loud rushing sound of the horse’s breath, the implacable sound of his pounding heart. Kaito had been stripped of his golden armor, but Hayato didn’t care. The armor was replaceable. Kaito wasn’t. And they had left him saddled, at least. 

“Thought I lost you, boy,” Hayato whispered. He heard Lord Sakai and Lady Yuna come up behind him.

“Your horse,” Lord Sakai said. It was not a question. “I’m glad he’s alive.”

Hayato didn’t answer, didn’t open his eyes. He listened for the mocking tone in Sakai’s words and heard none.

“I lost my own horse when I escaped Castle Shimura,” Sakai continued, as if Hayato’s reply didn’t matter to him one way or the other. His voice soft under the sound of the wind and snow. “Archers.”

That made Hayato think of Lady Yuna shooting Kaito in the face, and he turned around to face them both, leveling his gaze at her. “You almost killed him,” Hayato said, his voice flat and accusing. “If he hadn’t been wearing armor, you would have.”

“Lucky for him. I was aiming for you,” she replied, narrowing her eyes at Hayato.

“Peace, Yuna,” Lord Sakai said quietly, and to Hayato’s surprise, she glared at him… but went quiet. Lord Sakai didn’t acknowledge her angry glance or her sullen silence. He looked steadily at Hayato.

“Will you help me lead these people to safety, Lord Mori? I have people who can help see to your wounds.”

“We are not friends or allies, Lord Sakai,” Hayato replied. “You know what I came here to do.”

“And yet we are not your enemies,” Lord Sakai replied evenly. “We saved your life. You also swore an oath to protect these people, the same as I did. Will you help me protect them now?”

Hayato thought of the woman dragged out on her knees by her hair, screaming. The sound of Mongol laughter as they raped her in the snow. He closed his eyes. 

_You want? Bet_ you _scream like woman,_ a ghost Mongol whispered in his mind, and he shivered a little despite himself.

_They’re dead. They’re all dead now. And he’s the one who did it._

“Yes,” he heard himself saying. “I’ll help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Watashi wa yūrei o koroshimasu._ – I kill the Ghost.


End file.
